Cyanide
by Iniga
Summary: Semisequel to Innocence Lost and Found. Ron has always said Percy would throw him to the dementors or worse. Will he? Also starring a spying Severus. Written preOotP, HBP, DH 5th year AU. Complete.
1. Call to Arms

**Cyanide **

**Part 1: Call to Arms**

**Disclaimer: They aren't mine, although I've been borrowing them on a regular basis lately.**

"_Wonder if Percy knows all that stuff about Crouch?" Ron said as they walked up the drive to the castle. "But maybe he doesn't care . . . it'd probably make him admire Crouch even more. Yeah, Percy loves rules. He'd just say Crouch was refusing to break them for his own son."_

"_Percy would never throw any of his family to the dementors," said Hermione severely._

"_I don't know," said Ron. "If he thought we were standing in the way of his career . . . Percy's really ambitious, you know . . ."_

_--- __Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire_

Percy Weasley would never have admitted it to anyone, least of all himself, but his office in the Ministry of Magic was really a rather boring place. At least, it was boring in the sense that it saw very little action; while he did believe that the work he did was important, he knew that it would never show up in the pages of the _Daily Prophet_. For example, people _expected_ their cauldrons to be safe and of high quality, and gave little thought to the fact that someone had to maintain the regulations that kept them that way. No one was likely to contact him to commend him or even to complain to him.

Thus, he had not expected his fire to spring to life to reveal the face of Albus Dumbledore, the aged Hogwarts Headmaster. Dumbledore had actually spent the past several weeks working in many of the same Ministry buildings that Percy himself haunted, but Percy had seen very little of the man. Dumbledore had stuck close to Cornelius Fudge, the Minister of Magic, and had watched his every move. Now that things had settled down after a period of intense, frightening Dark activity, Dumbledore had returned to his beloved school.

Almost as soon as he had left the Ministry, though, he had contacted Percy and expressed the desire to see him personally. Percy, having little to do and a stock of vacation time, had Apparated to Hogsmeade and was now walking along the well-trod path to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

The path, as simple a thing as it was, awoke an odd array of emotions in Percy. Foremost in his mind was a sense of déjà vu. He had walked on this path twice a day on every Hogsmeade Saturday that the school had held between his third and seventh years. At first he, like all the students, had been eager to explore the fascinating village. In later years, he had gone because as a prefect he had had a duty to be available to the younger students who might get into unpleasant situations and require his help.

But as familiar as he was with this path, and as much as he belonged on it, he also did not belong on it. He was no longer a Hogwarts student, and had not been such for well over a year. In many ways he had thrived at the school, and he had certainly adored it, but now it was a place only for younger brothers and sister. He had done his time.

When he had first graduated, his feelings had been positive but surreal. Yes, he had been Head Boy, and yes, he had been at the top of his class, and yes, he had scored near-perfect marks on the NEWTs, and yes, he had gotten a job with the Ministry, as he had long wanted. Still, though, he had caught himself thinking more than once _When I get back to Hogwarts, I will_ before remembering that he would never go back. Then he had begun to think of the things he hadn't done while he was there, most notably the social opportunities he had lost because he had been busy cultivating his air of perfection and auditioning for the role of prefect and later Head Boy. He had dated, certainly, and had been accepted as a part of the prefects' exclusive social circle, but he had forged no lasting, loyalty-oath-inspiring relationships like that which existed between his brother Ron and his friends Harry and Hermione, or even like that which existed between the twins and their friend Lee-- not that the twins had ever exactly needed anyone but each other.

Now that he was on the subject of Hogwarts friendships, Percy tried to recall the social situations of his elder brothers, Bill and Charlie. They had been a Head Boy and a Quidditch captain, and as such had been popular, but were they still friends with the people they had met at school? He did not really think so, but Bill and Charlie were nine and seven years Percy's seniors, and he had never been old enough to be entirely up-to-date on their lives. Even now, when he had completed his education and so had they, they were off having exotic adventures in Egypt and Romania and he had returned to the Burrow and gone to work with their father. As much as his younger siblings had liked to call him "Percy, the Perfect Prefect," he could not quite claim that he was as successful as Charlie or Bill. He was nearly twenty years old, but he had not exactly taken over the world. Instead, he had strained to be accepted by the older members of the Ministry, but had remained an unimportant fish in the most important pond of all.

He had spent some time at Hogwarts the previous year, his first after graduation, because of a disastrous event known as the Triwizard Tournament. At the time, he had thought it a fantastic idea and had even regretted that he was no longer enrolled at Hogwarts and eligible to be a champion. It had been practically required (socially if not officially), from what he had gathered, for the students who were old enough to place their names in the Goblet of Fire and attempt to compete. Every prefect, he was sure, who was of age would have attempted to represent Hogwarts.

Instead, though, he had attended some events as a Ministry representative. The worst had been a task which had involved Ron being held as bait beneath the danger-filled lake so that his friend Harry could rescue him. Dumbledore would never have let Ron drown, and Harry was nothing if not determined, but, really, Harry had been too young to be taking part in the Tournament and he didn't even know how to _swim_ properly! It wasn't his fault, of course, that no one had ever taught him, but Percy's worry for Ron had increased to the point that when the friends finally did surface, with another "hostage" in tow, he had run out into the lake to see for himself that Ron had survived the ordeal. Ron had been mortally embarrassed, naturally, but Ron was often mortally embarrassed by Percy and Percy had grown used to it.

In retrospect, perhaps he had made himself look a bit childish and immature by dashing out after Ron when there were safety precautions all around. The twins and Ginny, their younger sister, had been present as well and none of them had made public displays of themselves.

He quickened his pace along the road. _That won't be Hogwarts' last image of me for long!_ He had a reputation and he was bound and determined to protect it. He had taken great steps toward that goal a month earlier, when Death Eaters had lured almost half the student body of Hogwarts into danger in the village that housed the Ministry offices and little more. Percy had been able to come to the aid of his brother's class and he had peeked at the report of the incident. It claimed that he had been calm, cool, collected, and of considerable help.

The road became a path and then a drive. He had no trouble entering the castle, and he turned promptly toward the staircase that led to Dumbledore's office. He had no desire to wander about and find someone else to talk with; no, he wanted to see no one but the man he had come to see. His single-mindedness sprang from a variety of reasons, not least of wish was the fact that he had absolutely _no_ idea why Dumbledore wanted to talk to him in person, and here.

For a second, and no more, he put his head down, and when he glanced up Dumbledore was standing at the foot of the stairs. As anyone who had ever read_ Hogwarts, A History_, knew, one could not Apparate or Disapparate within the castle, so Percy had no idea how Dumbledore had managed to appear. He had long ago learned, though, that there was no point to inquiring about such things. Dumbledore was a genius, and one of the most powerful wizards in history. Certainly he was a hero-figure in Percy's life; but he was also a bit mad, and Percy knew it. A question about his sudden appearance would be answered with an entirely unconnected and most likely inconsequential bit of information.

"Percy! Thank you for coming so promptly. Did you know that the Muggles in London are having a festival of some sort this week?"

"No, Sir," answered Percy, sensing that even without asking questions he was going to be treated to a display of the Headmaster's quirks. Entering the office, he sat in a chair and listened half-heartedly, although with the appearance of politeness. Ordinarily, his politeness would not be feigned, but his former school was for some reason making him nervous and he was growing more curious by the moment to learn the reason for his visit.

" . . . .Interesting, the Muggles," Dumbledore finally completed, and Percy brought himself to full attention. "But we have more serious matters to discuss. I would like to commend you once more on your behavior during our recent field trip crisis." Dumbledore looked truly disgusted. From what Percy understood, Dumbledore had attempted to stop that crisis before it had started, but Ministry regulations had prevented him from reaching his goal.

"Thank you."

"You must have been frightened knowing that Ron was likely to be right next to the primary target."

"Ron always seems to be in the middle of things. But he handled himself as well as anyone could have hoped."

"It was truly heroic behavior. That seems to run in his family." Percy nodded at the compliment. "It was a major blow to the cause of light magic, though, that such a thing could happen at all. The Death Eaters have become quite confident. I shudder to think how many people they may have in the Ministry."

Percy paled slightly beneath his freckles. He knew that he was not being accused personally-- Dumbledore knew him too well for that-- but he still felt that he should defend the Ministry. "Sir, we did attempt--"

Dumbledore waved him off. "Yes, yes, I know what happened. I spent weeks there as a result, as you'll recall."

"Of course."

"The situation is not as grim as it may sound, and it is certainly not unexpected. In any conflict, there will be spies. There are even spies in operation during the Inter-House Quidditch Championship. I believe your brothers Fred and George have been known to dabble in that pursuit. And the Ministry, and I, have always had spies within the Death Eaters' circle."

"Yes, I remember Father discussing the spies after the first fall of You-Know-Who, when the Ministry was just sorting through who was acting of their own free will and who had done what."

"You would have been a very young child at the time."

"I was five, almost six, when the war ended. I had gotten into the habit of paying attention to every conversation I heard about Death Eaters, and You-Know-Who, and attacks, because I liked to know before my parents told me if I was going to be sent to a safe house or a hideout."

"Wars are difficult for children." Dumbledore sighed, and Percy was tempted to explain that, really, it hadn't been so bad growing up in semi-hiding, and that his memories of suddenly being allowed to play in the sun whenever he liked and living constantly in one place that was his family's own far outshone the memories of attic rooms and lectures that ended with _be quiet, or else the Death Eaters will come for you and your brothers! _He did not resent that he had lived the life of a Ministry Brat during the war. It had been a necessity, and he knew well that his situation could have been much, much worse.

Many children of his age and younger had been murdered because they had not been directly threatened or carefully protected, as Ministry Brats were. He had not always been in hiding, or hunted down especially, because his father had not been a top-ranking Ministry official.

But he did not need to speak, because Dumbledore was forging ahead. "As I was saying, we have a number of useful spies. Our most useful of all, though, we fear is suspected. That makes the others all the more vital. Once a spy passes a certain quantity of information he simply admits that he is a spy, and needs our protection. He is no longer useful. In some cases, it is most useful if a spy announces _publicly_ that he is a spy, so that the population at large can trust in the facts they have been given."

"That makes sense," Percy replied, but he did not think that it made sense at all. It did not make sense for Dumbledore to be speaking to him this way, and about this subject. Dumbledore had made his needs obvious, but surely _Percy_ could not fulfill them. He came from a family that worked incessantly against the Dark Lord. Lucius Malfoy had a personal, long-term vendetta against Father.

"Well, then. Would you be willing to help?"

"I'll do anything you ask me to do," he answered sincerely. "Tell me what."

"I would think that it would be obvious by now. I would like you to become a Death Eater."

Bells began to clang in Percy's head. He had known for what the Headmaster was asking, but it sounded different now that the request had been voiced aloud. _A Death Eater? A spy?_ Espionage was the absolute last choice of Percy's list of potential careers. He would sooner work with Fred and George in their joke shop, which was looking like a reality now that the twins had come into a large amount of gold by means that Percy could only hope were legal.

In addition to helping him develop a lifelong fear of breaking rules except in the most dire of circumstances, Percy's time spent tucked away from He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and his comrades had convinced him that he wanted to be a part of the Ministry. He wanted to be one of those smart, protective people who kept the Dark Lord away. He wanted to make sure everyone was safe. He wanted to be like his father. As he grew, he had learned that accomplishing these goals meant being good, the best. He had, then, consciously set himself to being good, the best, at a frighteningly young age. When he had seen Mother's reactions to his high marks and impeccable behavior, he had pushed himself even harder. Being good became not just a means to a goal but an end in itself.

Percy disliked the power-hungry House of Slytherin as much as the next Gryffindor did, but he was ambitious. He enjoyed being good. He enjoyed being publicly acknowledged as good. He had never denied that.

No spy had _ever_ been made Minister of Magic. Never. He would be forfeiting the dream that had carried him through most of his life if he answered Professor Dumbledore in the affirmative.

His own goals, though, were not his primary reason for hating the very concept of this assignment. He had watched for years as Mother worried over Charlie, off fighting dragons, and Bill, breaking curses and dealing with goblins. Percy had taken great pride in his role as the son Mother never had to worry about. Aside from loving his mother and wanting to spare her trouble, Percy felt that this was something that made him stand out in a family of exceptional Quidditich players, students, and generally well-known well-liked figures. Mother would certainly worry, though, if he suddenly began to hide his whereabouts, or if he was caught and killed by one side or the other.

Mother was special to him. When Bill and Charlie had already been off at Hogwarts and the twins and Ron had been mere babies, when the first war against He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named had severely limited the options for the amusement of a young child, Mother had always given him as much time as he needed. She had taught him to read at a very young age and had procured children's books for him. She had taught him games, too, chess and gobstones (without the liquid-- squealing upon getting a wet face when one was in hiding was taboo), and had told him stories and sung him songs. She had been the center of his first years, and he would never forget that. Of course, should this mission have the worst possible outcome, Father and his siblings would be upset as well, and the younger ones might become targets for harassment at school. Percy knew very well that teasing could make time at Hogwarts pass unbearably slowly.

Of course, the people who had teased _him_ had been his aforementioned younger siblings.

Brats.

Brats that he loved with all his heart. In his earliest memories, the memories of the hidden rooms and cottages, the constant hisses of "be quiet!" had affected him most not when he was threatened but when Fred and George, and later Ron, had been threatened. He had tried to protect them even then.

He had a responsibility to look out for them now; and what better way to do so them than to fight the force of evil that might before long shove _them_ into a safe room-- or a grave?

Each of his siblings, from Bill, who was already running who-knew-what errands for Dumbledore, to Ginny, who had been born just two months before the first fall of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and was not yet halfway through her education, was willing to fight to the death for the cause of light magic. It was Mother's cause, and Father's, and Bill's and Charlie's and Fred's and George's and Ron's and Ginny's. And his. Percy's.

He knew that he could not refuse Dumbledore's offer no matter how much he might wish he could.

"With all due respect, Sir," Percy said courteously, speaking aloud to avoid the masses of thoughts that were swimming through his brain, "I don't know how to become a Death Eater."

Dumbledore laughed, far too merrily for someone who had just sentenced his companion to a probable physical death and a certain career death.

"When you were a student here, you knew what went on, did you not? The answer, if you'd like a hint, is 'yes.' You did. Everyone does. You knew who was practicing dark magic in his dorm room and whose father was a Death Eater. I refuse to believe that you cannot find someone to approach."

Percy thought, quickly. "I can."

"Then do. I would give you a name, but I'd rather you did this on your own. You must live this role, Percy. You need to convince yourself that you want to become a Death Eater. This is what you want from your life."

"I want to be a Death Eater."

"Then, you're in the wrong place. We try rather hard to keep your kind out of here."

Percy rose. "I'll be in touch."

"Do. I imagine you'll want to come see Gryffindor's first Quidditch match, now that you have a third brother on the team."

"Yes. I have to see him try out his new broom."

"I suppose I'll see you then."

Thus dismissed, Percy left the room, the castle, the Hogwarts Grounds. He Apparated back to his office as soon as he could. He suspected that he would miss its regularity and paperwork very, very soon.

**Note**: _This story has a prequel called Innocence Lost and Found. You don't have to read it to read this, and the stories focus on entirely different sets of characters. But some events referenced here are explained in full there._


	2. Initiation

**Part 2: Initiation**

Two weeks after his meeting both unexpected and unwanted, Percy angrily paced the floor of his office. A test. A test! Percy did not want to be tested on his worthiness as a Death Eater, though whether he feared passing or failing was anyone's guess. Actually, it was not anyone's guess but his own, but telling himself that it could, conceivably, be someone else's guess made him feel less alone. Never had he lied so often in his life. Today he had told his parents that he was working late and might possibly meet a friend from Hogwarts after work. He hoped that his hand on the family clock would not give him away.

The day after Professor Dumbledore had rather forcefully suggested a career change to Percy, he had obediently sought out a former classmate in a run-down pub that backed Knockturn Alley.

Marcus Flint had not been a classmate for much of Percy's Hogwarts career. Flint had been a year above Percy, and in another house to boot, but he had failed to pass his examinations and had been thrown into Percy's Gryffindor-Slytherin double Potions lessons during his seventh year. This had been part of Percy's reason for choosing Flint as his entrance point to the world he had promised all his life to fight. He wanted a contact that had not had much of an opportunity to know him personally. Stupid would help, as well. Despite the fact that Dumbledore had hand-picked him for this job, Percy was sure that his position as spy would be obvious. Saying that a Weasley was a Death Eater was likely to attract about as much serious consideration as saying that one wanted to referee the next Thunderer-Warrior game.

Quidditch. Flint had been the Slytherin Quidditch captain for several years and had never, so far as Percy could tell, done anything to stay within the rules or promote good sportsmanship. One of Percy's roommates, Oliver Wood, had been the Gryffindor captain and on nights after the two teams had had a match or an informal run-in, Oliver had yelled and stomped and sworn for hours on end before calming down enough to fall asleep.

"Weasley. You actually showed," Flint chuckled meanly. "I don't know why I'm surprised. You never were like the others."

"The others?"

"The Gryffindors. Your brothers. Their friends. The noble ones, the ones who went around claiming that all they wanted was world peace and happiness for all and a Gryffindor championship."

"I wanted the Gryffindor championships. They made me look good. I was prefect. Head Boy."

"You were, but you're nothing now."

"Can you do something to change that?"

"I might be able to."

"Mights don't go very far with me."

"Well, you aren't in charge. For all I know, you're doing this on a dare. For all I know, you wouldn't last a day. Initiations into the places we're discussing aren't easy. And once you're in, you're in forever, or you die."

Percy did his best to mumble under his breath and sound surly, which was not a habit for him.

"What was that?" asked Flint sharply, or as sharply as he could when his less-than-impressive intellect was further dulled by his consumption of large amounts of the pub's finest wares.

"I was saying your initiation would be easy compared to living with Oliver Wood for seven God damned years." Flint's eyes brightened, and Percy mentally patted himself on the back. It made sense that Flint felt about Oliver as Oliver felt about Flint. This would be a good way to ingratiate himself, and if Oliver knew his reasons he surely would not mind. Oliver was fairly easy-going about all things not called Quidditch.

"My time at Hogwarts was wasted, you know?" Percy continued, taking a drink of the pub's vile specialty himself. "What did it get me? Nothing but a boring, badly paying job that's never going to get me any respect. And the worst things about Hogwarts were my damn roommates. Ol-- Wood was always _whining_ about Quidditch and how they just _had_ to win, but then he'd go out there and not really try. No bewitched bludgers. No getting decent brooms by any means necessary. He never would have thought of something like that stunt you pulled, pretending to be dementors to upset that little crybaby Harry Potter."

"You have a brother who's almost joined at the hip to Harry Potter."

"Yes. And I love my brother." He couldn't very well say that he didn't. He was a Weasley. He had red hair and freckles, and he had a plethora of siblings whom he both enjoyed and enjoyed annoying. Right? Certainly he was different from his siblings, but could he be so drastically different that even Flint, who wouldn't be able to pour water out of a boot with instructions on the heel, would believe that he hated them? "I love all my brothers, but I don't think the way they do. I didn't spend my time in school playing tricks and games. I studied. I planned. I'm the smart one in the family, and I know which side is the winning side."

Flint smirked unpleasantly. "You know, I think you do."

"What does that do for me?"

"Two Fridays from now, be in your office in the evening. We'll pick you up for your test. You do well, we'll think about sponsoring you. You got it?"

"Got it."

He had never wanted to "get" anything less.

Nonetheless, here he was, two weeks later, pacing back and forth in his office, awaiting the arrival of Marcus Flint.

Suddenly, Percy stopped in mid-pace and lunged for his wand as three hooded figures, the stuff his childhood nightmares had been made of, appeared in his office.

"I wouldn't use your wand, Weasley. It wouldn't be a good way to get yourself invited to join us," said the figure that was unmistakably Flint.

"Care to introduce me to your friends?"

"Oh, nice cover, Weasley. Asking for an introduction to cover up that he's scared of us. No, I wouldn't _care_ to introduce you. Not before we decide we can trust you. A cold-hearted bastard you may be, but you've never shown any interest in anything but being a Ministry type before."

"You must know some other Ministry types if you were able to get in here."

"That we do. But it's not as if we weren't invited. We'll even leave right now, if you've changed your mind."

"I haven't."

"Then follow us."

_I can't believe I'm doing this. I can't believe I'm doing this. I can't believe I'm doing this. I can't believe I'm doing this. I can't believe I'm doing this. I can't believe I'm doing this._ "Lead the way. I'm ready." _I'm terrified. I can't believe I'm doing this. I can't believe I'm doing this. I can't believe I'm doing this._ His heart beat in time with his repeated thought. _I can't believe I'm doing this._

They walked down the hallway, as calmly as they pleased, as if a group of wizards wearing the classic Death Eater regalia were a common sight inside the Ministry office. Percy sincerely hoped that they were not.

Flint, beneath his robes and hood, pointed to a doorway as they passed. "Know him?"

"Gilbert Wimple? Yes, I've met him. Committee on Experimental Charms."

"Good. Ever been to his house?"

"Once. Years ago, before I started Hogwarts. I went with my father for some reason."

"Even better. You'll know where we're going tonight."

"Why? What does Gilbert Wimple have to do with you?"

Flint just laughed and produced some black cloth from beneath his cloak.

"Put this on."

Fighting not to look nervous, Percy saw that the cloth was in the shape of a hood, a Death Eater's hood. Warily, he pulled it over his head, wrapping its mask around to cover his face. He was dumbly startled to discover that he felt no different inside the costume of a Death Eater than he did in the robes of a Ministry worker.

"We're going to go outside and Apparate to Wimple's house. He and his wife are both at home, or they were less than an hour ago. Just do what we do."

"No problem."

_I can't believe I'm doing this._

Then, a more pressing thought occurred to Percy.

_Don't make me kill someone. Don't make me kill someone. Don't make me kill someone. Don't make me kill someone._

He did not want to kill anyone. He did not even want to hurt anyone. Least of all did he want to hurt a friendly co-worker of Father's, someone who had invited Percy into his kitchen to eat cookies when Percy had been a young child.

_Don't make me kill someone. Don't make me kill someone. Don't make me kill someone._

Killing was unethical. It was immoral. It was against everything he had ever been taught. It was against everything he believed. It was what he was fighting to stop! Surely Dumbledore had not intended him to . . . but he was supposed to convince himself that he wanted to be a Death Eater, and he could not do that by inventing elaborate plots by which he could ask the Hogwarts Headmaster what to do.

All he _could_ do, he decided, was beg an unknown force to listen to him.

_Don't make me kill someone. Don't make me kill someone. Don't make me kill someone._

They Apparated to the middle of the street upon which stood their target. Percy barely had time to wonder that someone as thick as Flint could master the ability to Apparate before one of his companions had drawn his wand and blown the front door off its hinges.

_I can't believe I'm doing this. Don't make me kill someone. I can't believe I'm doing this. Don't make me kill someone. I can't believe I'm doing this. Don't make me kill someone. I can't believe I'm doing this. Don't make me kill someone._ _I can't believe I'm doing this. Don't make me kill--_

Flint grabbed Percy's arm roughly, and they all began to run forward through the open door. Percy braced himself, sure that he would be repelled by a protective spell, but nothing happened. Had the Death Eaters removed the spell? Were the Wimples so naive or trusting that they did not use one?

Percy recognized Gilbert Wimple's voice, shouting in fear, yelling for his wife to run. Rounding a corner, he could see that his wand had already been snapped, and that he was being held by two hooded figures, his arms twisted, his head banged against the wall.

Was this everything? Intimidation and nothing else? Percy had seen Flint do worse to Gryffindor first years without the slightest provocation.

A hand was raised to point first at Percy and then up a short flight of stairs. Understanding, he loped up them two at a time. He was to do to the wife as his companions were doing to the husband. It would not be difficult magically; Mrs. Wimple was nearly a squib, although she was wonderful, warm, and caring. In all other ways, though, this task promised to be the most difficult he had ever completed.

"Stay back!" she cried, her back against a bedroom wall and her wand pointing at Percy.

"Expeliarmus," he whispered, not wanting his voice to be recognized and inwardly berating himself for not altering before he had left the Ministry. The wand flew easily into his hand and he snapped it, tossing it across the room, before reaching out one long arm and grabbing Mrs. Wimple by the throat.

She was shaking violently, and he wished that he could tell her that he had no intention of hurting her. He wanted nothing more than to comfort her as he would have Ginny; Mrs. Wimple was no taller than Percy's younger sister. He was certain, though, that he was being observed, and so he gagged her, bound her, and threw her into the wall, wincing sympathetically as flesh met brick, and hoping that she would not bruise too badly.

He heard footsteps behind him and saw that it was Flint. Flint mimed knocking someone unconscious, and Percy stepped forward, pulled his victim off the floor, and clapped her on the head with the heel of his hand, trying to make it look brutal and not as if he had aimed for the spot behind the ear that was likely to be the quickest and least painful point.

"Now go through the closet, grab his briefcase, and find the file on new charms," Flint commanded in a low voice.

Percy did so, and they summarily left the house, conjured the Dark Mark, and returned to his office.

Safely inside, Flint removed his hood and Percy did the same. "You did well," said Flint simply.

"Why didn't we kill them? I thought Death Eaters never left their victims alive."

"Eager, are you? First of all, Weasley, those weren't victims. If they were, we _wouldn't_ have left them alive. Second, you haven't been initiated. You could turn around and tell the world what you saw me do tonight-- but you can't say you saw me kill someone. You're a big risk, but you'll be a big prize if you work out. You might even be my ticket into the Inner Circle. But that's where you're going right now. They'll check you out."

Percy's head was spinning, and Flint laughed his usual, mean laugh. "Catch," said Flint, and he threw Percy what looked like a bludger but what was, as he realized as soon as he caught it, a portkey.

The bludger was wrenched from Percy's hands even before he was able to orient himself. The night was dark, darker than any night had a right to be, and although Percy was somehow sure that he was in the middle of a circle of Death Eaters, he could see none of them. Even if he had been able to see their figures, their faces were surely masked and their heads hooded. They, though, could most certainly see him. His pale skin was illuminated by a charm of some sort that had been cast even as the portkey was taken from him. Virtually nothing could have made his position more vulnerable.

"CRUCIO!"

Well, there was that.

The pain was all-encompassing at first, and then it faded to a haze. Eventually, Percy became aware that the pain was now only a haze because the curse had been removed. It could not have been left on him for more than half a minute; he had not even fallen to his knees.

"Did that hurt?" echoed a voice obviously disguised by several of the charms Percy had been contemplating using on himself earlier that evening.

"Yes," Percy answered flatly, deciding that since the Death Eaters already knew the answer to the question, which really had been the stupid question to end all stupid questions-- then Percy reminded himself that there were no stupid questions, only stupid people-- they wanted to feel out his personality.

"The pain will be much worse if you ever displease us."

"I understand."

"Do you wish to join our junior circle?"

"I do."

"Do you give your word to follow the directions given to you by your sponsor and the senior members of the junior circle?"

"I give my word."

"Do you renounce your loyalty to the Ministry of Magic?"

"I renounce it."

"And to Albus Dumbledore?"

"I renounce it."

"And to the causes that further the interests of Muggles?"

"I renounce it."

"And Mudbloods?"

"I renounce it."

"And to all causes which may have objectives which differ from our own?"

"I renounce it."

"Do you swear that your blood is pure?"

"I swear it."

"Why are you superior to Mudbloods and Muggles?"

"Pure blood."

"Extend your left arm. Let us see that pure blood of yours."

A cool solution was poured onto Percy's arm, but it did not remain cool for long. It began to burn, and boil, as if it were something alive and fighting to crawl inside him right through his very skin. Next, the blade of a knife was placed against the burning, moistened skin and covered by the black-gloved hand of a man who had appeared from nowhere.

"Place your right hand over his," came the echoing, commanding voice.

Percy did so.

"Now push down and cut yourself. Three times, as deeply as you can."

The cutting of wrists was not a popular method for suicide for no reason, but Percy bore down on the blade nonetheless.

The first cut was not a horrible ordeal. He was unable to feel it; instead, he heard the knife grind against his bone and so stopped.

The second cut more than made up for it. Acid flowing into his veins mingled with blood flowing out. He was weakened but felt that he could perhaps summon the strength to cut off his whole arm at the shoulder and be done with the thing. It was not worth this.

The third cut was the worst of all, but the hardest to contemplate because Percy was already losing consciousness even before he began. Sweat, blood, tears, and acid all became one as he thought what he was sure would be his final thoughts.

Percy was revived, though, perhaps a minute later. "Rise!" called the voice, and Percy staggered to obey. His left arm hung limply at his side. His best guess was that the bleeding had been stopped, but he knew not how. He knew only that his previous idea of removing his entire arm and never again putting up with the pain it could feel had been a good one.

"Drink!" commanded the voice.

A cup appeared before Percy, and he downed its contents in a gulp. Instantly, his stomach lurched. Was it veritaserum, then? Percy had always believed that the nausea veritaserum was said to cause came not from any of the ingredients found in the potion but from the troubled minds of the imbibers who were about to say things that they wished to keep private. He changed his mind now, and swallowed dryly, trying to keep himself from retching.

"Were the answers you gave me earlier tonight entirely truthful?"

"Yes," said Percy wearily, wondering why they had not just given him veritaserum at the time.

"You still wish to join us?"

"Yes."

"You have no loyalty to the Ministry of Magic, Albus Dumbledore, or non-Pureblood causes?"

"No." It took Percy until his third answer to notice that he was lying, lying through veritaserum. He was not even fighting it. Had he convinced himself to play his role to the hilt? Did he really believe . . . ? He had neither the time nor the strength to properly analyze the answer to that question.

"Why do you wish to join us after a lifetime of loyalty to the Ministry?"

"The Ministry was not what I believed it to be. It made a fool of me when I thought it would bring me power."

"Do you understand that you may endanger your family?"

"Yes. It's worth it."

"Are you loyal to your-- let's narrow this down. How do you feel about your brother Ronald?"

Percy was about to repeat his statement to Flint, that he loved Ron but did not think the way he did, when a memory of their time together at Hogwarts suddenly shot to the forefront of his mind.

"_Get-- away-- from-- there--" Percy said, striding toward them and starting to bustle them along, flapping his arms. "Don't you __care__ what this looks like? Coming back here while everyone's at dinner--"_

"_Why shouldn't we be here?" said Ron hotly, stopping short and glaring at Percy. "Listen, we never laid a finger on that cat!"_

"_That's what I told Ginny," said Percy fiercely, "but she still seemed to think you're going to be expelled, and I've never seen her so upset, crying her eyes out, you might think of __her__, all the first years are thoroughly overexcited by this business--"_

"_You__ don't care about Ginny," said Ron, whose ears were now reddening. "__You're__ just worried I'll mess up your chances of being Head Boy--"_

"_Five points from Gryffindor!" Percy said tersely, fingering his prefect badge. "And I hope it teaches you a lesson. No more __detective work__, or I'll write to Mum!"_

_And he strode off, the back of his neck as red as Ron's ears._

"No," Percy told the assembled group. "I don't love Ron. I thought I did, in a he's-my-brother-so-I-have-to fashion, but the more I think of him, the more I see that he was in my way. Nearly lost the Head Boy position for me with all the stunts he pulled. Brothers can be very different. They can share blood and not give a damn about each other. Not know a thing about each other," he completed bitterly.

The circle seemed to accept his statement, but, had Percy had more ability to string together a coherent thought, he would have been more concerned about whether or not he accepted his statement. Had Ron been right, all those years ago? Did Percy care about Ron? Did he care about Ginny? How could he say this under veritaserum, without thinking twice?

"Extend your arm again." Percy did so, with no small amount of effort, and saw that it had been half-sealed so that it looked something like raw meat. Then, the light that surrounded him vanished, and all that he could see was a glowing brand making its way toward him. Before the brand burst entirely into flames, Percy was able to recognize the Dark Mark.

He could not see the man who advanced on him, but after he had seared the long-feared emblem onto Percy's already wounded arm, he whispered "Welcome," in a voice that chilled Percy to his core.

This must be him. The Dark Lord himself had just touched him, marked him, branded him. Instinctively, Percy tried to look at the figure, but he saw him no more than he saw those standing in the circle around him.

The bludger was thrown at his chest, and he found himself sprawled helplessly on the floor of his office.

**Note: The flashback to Percy and Ron at Hogwarts is, as I'm sure you know, a quote from **_**Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets**_


	3. The Senior Spy

**Part 3: The Senior Spy**

Albus Dumbledore, the head of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, was widely considered to be the most powerful wizard of the modern age. He had been responsible for the fall of Grindelwald in the mid-twentieth century, and in the late twentieth century he was known to be the only wizard feared by Lord Voldemort. He was powerful, intelligent, and held in the deepest esteem by most who met him. Those who did not esteem him did, at least, fear him.

Thus, it was unusual for someone-- anyone-- to storm into his office without announcement, not least because only a very few people knew the passwords that would grant them the ability to do so even if they happened to be willing.

Dumbledore's office was, though, entered without invitation from time to time, and today the arrival was Hogwarts' Potions Master, Severus Snape.

"Are we alone?" Severus asked abruptly.

"Good morning, Severus," said Dumbledore kindly, his eyes keen behind his omnipresent half-moon glasses.

"It is _not_ a good morning. Are we alone?"

"You have walked into my office without invitation, so the least you could do is say 'good morning.' And do close the door, won't you?"

"Good morning," snarled Severus begrudgingly, more annoyed than usual by the Headmaster's power play. Severus truly believed that he had every right to be unpleasant if he so desired as long as he otherwise behaved appropriately. He shut the door harder than was strictly necessary, but not hard enough that Dumbledore would be able to say beyond a shadow of a doubt that he was being petulant.

"There, now that wasn't so hard. Sit down and tell me what's on your mind, Severus."

"Is Percy Weasley a spy?" he asked bluntly, without preamble and without sitting down.

"Sit down, Severus." Again, Severus was forced to obey. The first time Dumbledore had told him to sit down it had been a polite invitation, but the second time was a sharp command. Dumbledore had been Hogwarts Headmaster for many years, since Severus himself had been a student at the school, and the younger man still well recognized the commanding tone that Dumbledore now used.

"Is Percy Weasley a spy?" Severus repeated in a more calm tone of voice.

"Are you certain you want to know?"

"I'm certain I asked."

"Ah, but human beings often ask questions to which they would be better off not knowing the answers."

"I'm not one of your students anymore, Albus," Severus growled, as much to convince himself as to convince his companion.

"I had noticed that. I'd noticed you doing a fine job as Potions Master among other things. That is why I wonder if you truly wish to know the answer to your question."

"I _told_ you it wasn't a good morning. You're the most optimistic man I know, but you're so certain that the Dark Lord knows who I am and is going to torture me for information that you don't want me to know if the snot-nosed Weasley brat is working for you."

"I didn't say I didn't want you to know, Severus. I asked if you wanted to know. Do you?"

Severus sighed deeply. "I suppose not."

"Is there anything else you would like to tell me? As Potions Master or as anything else?"

Severus began to roll his eyes but deemed it not worth the effort. "Percy Weasley was initiated into the junior circle of Death Eaters last night. Two others tried, but they did not pass the Dark Lord's tests."

"And Percy did."

"He did."

"Thank you, Severus."

"I have one other bit of information which you might find useful."

"Yes?"

"The veritaserum under which he was interrogated was somehow switched with a simple anti-germ potion."

"Most interesting."

"I thought you might find it so." Severus rose. "I have classes to teach."

"I know you do. I won't keep you."

Severus nodded curtly and left the room, making sure his robes snapped and swished as he exited. He almost wished that Dumbledore had detained him. Like every other wizard in the free world, he knew that the safest location to be found was that which was in close proximity to Albus Dumbledore. Severus would have liked to have claimed that he was able to take care of himself, but in his heart of hearts he knew that that simply was not true. He had sold his safety away long ago.

When he was even younger than that sanctimonious, superior Weasley brat, he too had submitted to the ordeals that allowed him entrance into the circle of Death Eaters. Because of his family's reputation and the friends he had made in school, as well as his fantastic talent for both hexes and potions, he had been accepted to the Inner Circle almost instantaneously. To his great disgust, though, he had found that the incessant lectures from Dumbledore and other Hogwarts professors had affected him more deeply than he had imagined. The more time he had spent with the megalomaniacal Death Eaters and their leader, the more they had disgusted him. Kill all Muggles? Kill all Muggle-borns, even all half-bloods, and call this a service to humanity? Although there were some prominent members of Dumbledore's anti-Voldemort forces to whom Severus would have dearly loved to raise his wand, there were others whom he knew he would never have been able to curse, let alone kill.

Thus, he had been forced into a role as a double agent, and had, by betraying those he had spent all his youth working to join, become destined to a life of twofold fear. Firstly, he, like any other thinking wizard, feared the fall of light magic. Apocalypse was not something to be eagerly anticipated. Secondly, and more personally, he feared that his role as an undercover agent would eventually be revealed to the Dark Lord, Lucius Malfoy, and the other Death Eaters. The day he was held up as a spy would be the day he died a death ten times more painful than the little initiation ceremonies that were held to frighten new recruits. His life was constrained by the Death Eaters (although they did not know it), and he sincerely doubted that they would quickly grant him freedom through death.

Severus' students all knew that he was not to be trifled with. They knew that he knew roughly as much about Dark Arts as he did Potions. They knew that he would treat the members of the houses that admitted students with common blood unfairly. They knew that he was a host of things which they could not repeat to their parents for fear of getting their mouths washed out with soap.

They did not know that every day, and every night, he worried that Light Magic would fall, and that with it would fall Hogwarts. If Hogwarts fell, all those students whom everyone _knew_ he hated would lose their lives, some of them after a scant eleven years of existence.

As he glided into the Potions classroom, looking menacing and ready to hand out detention to the first student who so much as opened his or her mouth, he quickly spat out directions for brewing the simplest Alacrity Potion and ordered the students into pairs. Then he retreated to the front of the room to await the disaster that was sure to occur with this particular group of students.

Neville Longbottom. Severus knew as well as the next person that the state of Longbottom's parents was a true tragedy, a true example of the lowest depths to which Death Eaters would sink. But Longbottom was difficult to teach, inept in every way, and impossible for someone like Severus, who had always been a rapid and confident learner, to relate to. The boy was a squib, pure and simple. It was impossible to believe that his blood was every bit as pure as the blood of the members of the inner circle.

Severus' grimace deepened as his sharp eyes continued to scan the Gryffindor half of the room. The three ringleaders were working together, but he could hardly protest since the number of students in the fifth-year classes had been made uneven by the absence of Parvati (from Gryffindor/Slytherin) and Padma (from Ravenclaw/Hufflepuff) Patil. The twins' parents had taken them home after they had become pawns in a Death Eater scheme, the intent of which Severus found himself still unable to decipher. No one had told him what had been about to happen; this was the principle reason that he believed that, yes, he was suspected to be a double agent. He wondered how soon Albus would let him pass some information that did not look useless.

He glared ever harder at the three of them, huddled together, heads bowed over their cauldron so that all Severus could see was a blending of ebony, chestnut, and flame. For the quickest instant, Potter looked up to see if he was being watched and Severus was able to glimpse the boy's glasses. He looked so much like his father; they looked so much like James Potter and his gang.

Severus scowled.

James Potter, Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, and Peter Pettigrew. The four had done everything as a unit: moved, eaten, made friends, studied, worked, caused trouble, fought, and spoken as one. At first glance it had looked something like a hive mind; on closer observation, it became obvious that the other three simply did Potter's bidding. Potter himself had been unable to sneeze without first checking with Black, the most conceited and hypocritical of the group.

Not a rule existed at Hogwarts that the four friends had not managed to break, but they had always wormed their way out of trouble because of the favoritism that ran rampant through the school. A disingenuous comment from Black, a mock-sincere glance from Potter, or a falsely shy smile from Lupin was all it took to convince a professor to give them commendations and house points instead of detentions and expulsions.

Severus had been involved in an extremely personal way in the most egregious example of the Hogwarts' faculty's collective blind spot when it came to the Potter gang. Black had sent Severus past a barrier that had been meant to protect him from one of the most dangerous dark creatures in existence-- a werewolf. The werewolf-- which called itself "Lupin" when it was not out killing, maiming, and biting innocent people-- had not been expelled from school, or even punished. More significantly, Black had not been expelled or given more than the proverbial slap on the wrist.

Yes, that was what Hogwarts had thought of Severus: he was not so valuable that a fellow student's attempt to murder him needed to be taken seriously.

The Death Eaters had never taken him so lightly; and yet, he had returned to Hogwarts and its Headmaster.

Many years after Severus barely escaped the hungered jaws of the wolf, after Black had once again escaped the clutches of Severus and a team of dementors alike, Severus had brought himself to ask Dumbledore to explain exactly why his life had been deemed worthless by the Hogwarts staff of the time. To Severus' pure and utter disgust, Dumbledore had laughed.

"_Severus, you never were able to think clearly when it came to Sirius Black and his friends."_

"_Why should I? He tried to kill me!"_

"_He was hardly old enough to contemplate murder. He did not think his actions through."_

"_He's old enough now, and yet the last time I saw him he was still bragging about it."_

"_The last time you saw him he begged you to let him explain his situation, but you were more concerned about securing him a dementor's kiss than you were about the potential threat to the future of light magic."_

"_His story was ridiculous."_

"_The truth often is."_

"_Why are you so certain that he is telling the truth?"_

"_His sanity after twelve years in Azkaban, and his refusal to hurt Harry, and the stories of Remus and the children, are difficult pieces of evidence to forget."_

"_The werewolf-- never mind. That isn't what I asked. I asked about what happened when we were in school."_

"_So you did. And I began by mentioning that you are unthinking, and perhaps even melodramatic, when the subject of Sirius Black arises. I would prefer that you attempt to put your abject loathing for him aside if we are going to discuss an event involving him."_

"_Fine. For the rest of this conversation, I will forget that he tried to kill me." Severus paused for a sarcastic beat. "So why didn't anyone care that he tried to kill me?"_

"_He was punished, Severus."_

"_Detention? The same as he would have gotten for setting off a dungbomb during History of Magic?"_

"_Considerably more. You're a professor now. You know that when a student breaks the rules, we attempt not simply to punish him but, more importantly, to help him understand why his choice was the wrong one and encourage him not to do it again."_

"_And since Black hasn't attempted murder since then, so far as we know, you were happy with the outcome?"_

"_I think the solution we found was the best for all involved."_

"_He's never shown any remorse."_

"_Would you show any to him, if you felt it toward him?"_

"_I have never tried to kill him. I've tried to kill several times. As a Death Eater. And I believe that I've shown remorse every day since then by risking my life as a double agent, by staying here and trying to guide my students away from the Dark path. You're steering away from the point again, Albus. I won't have it. Why wasn't Black punished more severely?"_

"_I imagine it was rather punishing for him to face Remus the next day and explain why he nearly turned him into what he most feared becoming. I imagine it was very difficult to say to one of his closest friends that he regarded him as a thing and manipulated him for selfish purposes. That he took advantage of a secret. It must have been quite difficult for him to ask Remus' forgiveness."_

"_The werewolf wouldn't care. He obviously didn't. He was no better than Pettigrew. He liked to keep Black and Potter around to protect him, and to help him get outside to do damage during the full moon."_

"_I don't believe that you believe that train of logic."_

_Severus snorted in disagreement. _

"_All right, then," Dumbledore continued. "Did you consider yourself an even match for any of your classmates?"_

"_Yes, as long as professors weren't around to take their parts."_

"_Did you ever notice Remus being intimidated by you? Do you think you frighten him now?"_

"_He's not the talent you made him out to be when you gave him the Defense Against the Dark Arts job."_

"_Is he afraid of you?"_

"_No. He's a Dark Creature. He needs only to wait for the next full moon to ruin me or anyone else."_

"_Then he did not need Sirius' protection, as Sirius understood it. However, I believe that you are right."_

"_What?" The two parts of Dumbledore's statement did not seem to mesh._

"_Remus would not have dealt well with Sirius' expulsion. He would have had to face Sirius' best friends every day until they graduated. He would have had to live with James and Peter, and he would have felt their reproach even if they did not reproach him. He would have felt guilty for sending Sirius to a fate as an unqualified wizard. Remus deserved more than that. He was as much as victim as you were. In fact, as I recall he looked worse the next morning than you did."_

"_So Black wasn't expelled because Lupin was your pet project? You were so eager to be the Headmaster who made a werewolf--"_

"_A victim of childhood lycanthropy."_

"_--into a fully trained wizard that you let his murderous best friend stay on?"_

"_I don't deny that I had high hopes for Remus. It's always the hardest for the first one. Now that Hogwarts has trained a werewolf without any permanent harm being done, the door is open for us to accept the next child who was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Not all children have the patience and the self-control and the sense of responsibility that Remus did. I don't deny that I was delighted when I learned about him-- someone who would be able to survive the prejudice and the meanness and the physical trials and make it through, so that the prejudice and the meanness faced by the next student will not be so intense."_

"_And the next student will know that it's perfectly all right to attack his classmates."_

"_The next student will know that he does not need to be perfect and that no more is expected of him than of his classmates."_

"_Less is expected, in fact."_

"_I told you that I believed that we found the best solution for all concerned. No less was expected of Remus than of the rest of you, but he did as well as any of you. He is a powerful, gifted wizard and a decent human being who has risked his life for the cause of light magic just as you have. Just as Sirius Black has. The world would be worse off without any one of the three of you in it. That is the final word on why none of you were expelled-- and don't look at me that way, Severus, you knew at the time that under no circumstances were you to go near the Whomping Willow."_

"_So I deserved to be punished just as much as Black did? Truly, Albus--"_

"_You've made your opinion known, Severus. You asked a question and I answered it."_

Yes, the question had been answered, but not to Severus' satisfaction. No answer could truly have satisfied him other than "We were wrong not to expel Sirius Black and bring him up on criminal charges. His friends should have been investigated as well because that group simply did not act independently of one another and if one knew of a murder attempt, all four knew of it. You were more valuable than any of them, and it would have been a serious blow to lose you. We have been hypocritical in the past by punishing you without punishing them in kind. Their friendship has been regarded as a beautiful, special thing instead of the weakness that it is. How are they to fight properly in the war if they have convinced one another that they are not expendable? How are they to have good judgment when all of their thoughts toward one another are tempered by affection? You are also absolved of feeling any debt of gratitude to James Potter, because he would not have had to save your life if he and his minions hadn't put it in danger in the first place."

Instead, he had been told "The rules apply to you. They do not apply to them, even when they attempt to commit murder, the most heinous of all crimes."

Severus felt his face contorting into a sneer, and realized that he had been daydreaming during a class. Such behavior was extremely dangerous, but he found himself doing it more and more often lately. The potential rise of the Dark Lord was enough to distract anyone.

He raised his eyes and again saw the younger Potter.

_Potter._

"Five points from Gryffindor, Potter," he said smoothly. The Slytherin half of the class stopped working and looked up with interest while the braver members of the Gryffindor half favored Severus with glares.

"What for, Sir?" he asked flatly, while Granger tried to keep Weasley from phrasing the question in a more expressive way.

_So I can even out the unfairness that has always been shown to members of your family and your house_, Severus thought but could not say. Instead, he replied "For having all of your ingredients prepared when the rest of the class does not. There's no need to show off. It's perfectly obvious that you are only ahead because there are three of you, instead of two as in the other groups."

Severus was treated to supportive comments from the Slytherins, and Potter put his head back down, helping Granger convince Weasley that he should keep his mouth shut.

_Who's in control, now, Potter?_ Severus asked mentally, temporarily blurring the line between father and son.

Another strong familial resemblance was that between Ron Weasley and his brother Percy. They looked more alike than any of the other Weasley siblings, except for the twins, who were just identical. All of the children in that family-- and there were seven-- had bright red hair, bright brown eyes, and more freckles than could be counted. Percy and Ron, though, were particularly tall and lanky, but not as non-conformist in appearance as their eldest brother Bill, whose attitude kept most people from noticing what he actually looked like.

As long as he was on the subject of personality, though . . . Percy had been the easiest of the seven to handle in class, even easier to deal with than the little girl. He had never broken a single rule, which led Severus to wonder if he really belonged in the house in which the Sorting Hat had placed him, and had been an annoyance only because he was a know-it-all. His talent in Potions was not inconsiderable and Severus had not had to put any effort into teaching him. He had made himself an easy target to be laughed at by the Slytherins, much the way Potter's friend Granger did.

Ron, though, was not the rule-follower that Percy was. Ron yelled. Ron swore. Ron threw ingredients and punches. Ron lost far more points for Gryffindor than he was worth. Ron's opinions were always worn on his sleeve. He hated his Potions Master; he had a crush on his female best friend; he adored his male best friend but was cripplingly jealous of him; he was embarrassed by his family's financial situation; and he would never, ever, despite his thirst for attention, join forces with the Dark Lord.

It was harder to tell with Percy.

Would Dumbledore not have reacted if he had not known of Percy's recent activities?

Or had Percy truly become a Death Eater, drawn by the promise of the power he obviously craved?

Severus suspected that he had. He _had_ to suspect that he had. Coming to any other conclusion would put them both in danger.


	4. Necessary Space

**Part 4: Necessary Space**

Percy had spent his first year in the Ministry working long hours, running as fast as he could, doing the bidding of anyone who would descend to give him orders, and singing the praises of anyone he could get near. Any written work he had prepared had been prepared with the utmost diligence.

Now, as he completed the first quarter of his second year, Percy dashed off reports as soon as they crossed his desk, completed but did not solicit extra work, and found the concept of going out of his way to talk to high-ranking Ministry employees unthinkable. He had stopped his private study of foreign languages and cultures. His work, which had previously been impeccable, now contained small errors-- hardly noticeable errors, but errors all the same.

Percy was not sure whether he should be relieved or infuriated that no one seemed to notice or care that his work had slipped several notches. In the end, he decided that he felt neither relieved nor infuriated, because Percy "Weatherby" Weasley the Perfect Prefect and Bighead Boy would soon cease to exist. In his place would be Percy the Death Eater, who was secretly Percy the Spy.

One afternoon, a knock sounded on the door of his small office. He was surprised. The work that needed to be done had been done, so there was no reason for anyone to seek him out. He simply was not that important, so far as the Ministry was concerned.

"Come in."

"Percy? Are you busy?" Arthur Weasley poked his head around the edge of the door.

"Father? No, not at all."

Arthur stepped all the way into the office and shut the door behind him. "That's good to hear. For a time, your mother and I never thought we'd see you not busy again."

"Things have slowed down."

Arthur raised his eyebrows. "I see."

"What did you want to talk to me about?"

"I think that this would be a good starting point." Arthur held up a report that Percy had written perhaps a week earlier. It described the attempts of the Russian Ministry to prevent Muggles from noticing the construction of a new magical embassy building.

"What about it?"

"You spelled the name of the Russian Deputy Minister of Magic in two different ways."

Percy took the report from his father. "They're both accepted spellings."

"The general rule is still consistency."

"I'm sorry. It won't happen again."

"I wasn't looking for an apology. I see more serious mistakes than this every day."

"Then why are you pointing it out, Father? Aren't you pressed for time? Weren't there five raids last night?"

"Six, but that can wait. Percy, _most people_ make mistakes like this every day, but _you_ do not. When you were a little boy learning arithmetic, you would sit down and do it as soon as you came home from school. You would check it over and over, and you would refuse to go to bed, or to come to dinner, until your mother or I took it away from you."

"I remember. Once you forgot to give it back." He flushed at the memory.

"Yes, well, your teacher was very understanding when I explained it to her the next day. Your teachers, and your professors, and your employers have always been more understanding than you've given them credit for, Percy. You've always worked exactly as hard as your mother and I would allow you to work. You've been a perfectionist, and we've worried about you." Arthur shifted uncomfortably, and Percy became aware that his mother had put his father up to this. "When you first started working here, I had to come to your office at the end of the day and drag you home with me."

"And now I've changed, and that bothers you, too?"

"You could never not please your mother and me. You know that. But your sudden change in personality for no reason that we can see concerns us."

"An editing mistake in a report is a sudden change in personality?"

"You've always made academic work the center of your life. It obviously isn't there any longer, and I haven't got the faintest idea what is. You come home late, or you don't come home at all, and while you're an adult and you don't need to tell us where you are, it doesn't seem to be in keeping with your history for you not to tell us anything. You used to send us owls every week from Hogwarts."

"Just so you wouldn't worry about the twins, or Ron and Ginny."

"You did it your first two years when they weren't there with you, and you know that, Percy. We were glad that you did. We like you, and that's why we're sorry that we never see you anymore. It seems as if you're setting up the hours you keep to avoid seeing _us_."

"I'm not avoiding anything."

"Then would you mind coming home for dinner this evening?"

As usual, Percy had plans to meet the junior circle of Death Eaters. The fewer evenings he was absent, the better. More members of the group would be likely to unmask themselves to him if he was present even at optional meetings. Of course, he already had a good idea as to the identities of several of his fellow junior members, seeing as he had gone to school with them.

"I don't think I can," said Percy with genuine regret.

"It's one night," wheedled Arthur.

"I know, but be fair. How long has it been since Bill or Charlie has come home for dinner?"

"Bill and Charlie are in Africa and Romania."

"And they're never within Apparating distance?"

"They have careers."

"And so do I. Honestly, this has nothing to do with how I feel about you or Mother." Arthur looked as if he might interrupt, but Percy forged on. "I'm just busy in a different way than I used to be. I know I haven't been fair. Maybe it's better that I get my own flat so you don't have to deal with my schedule." If Percy's words were argumentative, his tone was not. "It's about time. At first I was saving money, and I was too focused on work to look anyway. I have the money now, and I have to start living my own life more. All right?" He ended his speech as gently as he could, hoping that his father was unable to tell that he was petrified, and that he really wanted nothing more than to curl up in his childhood bedroom and hide.

To Percy's immense relief, Arthur nodded. "Is this really what you want?"

"Yes." A question with an easy answer. Those were few and far between anymore.

"Fine, then. We'll look at the _Prophet_ tomorrow--"

"No," Percy interrupted. "I want to do this myself." The benefits of this plan were multiple: he could plant the idea in his parents' head that he simply felt like being more independent (this was not entirely untrue); he could avoid involving his mother, who was much more difficult to dissuade than was his father; he could avoid public association with his family, which would further encourage his newly-designed reputation as the Weasley Black Sheep; and he could have something to do while waiting for night to fall. He was deeply grateful that the days were shortening rapidly.

"You're sure?"

"Positive. I'm an adult."

"I know you are. Your being an adult does not mean that I am no longer your father."

"I didn't say that it did."

"See that you never do." Arthur's voice was light on the surface, but beneath it was an edge that let Percy know that he had not been fooled. Whatever observation Percy's parents had placed him under had just been stepped up.

To Percy's surprise, though, his father did not further attempt to engage him in serious conversation during the weeks that followed. Thanks to the advice of his fellow junior Death Eaters, Percy had virtually no trouble in finding a suitable flat. He moved in quickly and with a minimum amount of hand-wringing by his mother. His days took on a new sort of a pattern. Work. Training. Sleep. And little else.

Training was, naturally, his least favorite third of his day. He could conjure the Dark Mark now; it was more of a trick than he had expected. An eclectic combination of charms was used to make it hang in the air just so, bleeding into the sky menacingly. Somehow, knowing just how it worked made it less frightening, but he still could not help but detest himself for knowing just how it worked.

He still wondered why he had been able to coolly inform the senior Death Eaters that he truly agreed with their ideals and that he hated his family. Various explanations occurred to him, some absurd, some possible. The explanations he considered most often were that he actually _did_ detest his family and was not consciously aware of this fact; and that somehow, Dumbledore had managed to have the veritaserum switched with something else.

More and more junior Death Eaters decided to show him their faces as time passed. He had been correct in his suspicion that many of them were his former classmates-- members of Slytherin House one and all. Percy was not particularly affected by their presence, because Dumbledore had obviously known for what he was training most children of certain families when he had admitted them.

It was more disturbing, though, when a masked member of the Inner Circle came to supervise a meeting one night. Despite the mask, Percy knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that this was a man named Macnair, a Ministry employee. The Ministry was indeed full of spies.

A break in Percy's routine came in mid-November, when Gryffindor played Ravenclaw in its first Quidditch match of the Hogwarts term. This date had long ago been marked as an opportunity for Percy to meet with Dumbledore. Additionally, he had told his parents that he intended to go to Hogwarts to see Ron (and Fred and George, of course) play, and they had seemed pleased. The Death Eaters had been informed as well so they could not become convinced that Percy was somehow involved with Dumbledore. They thought he was simply placating his family, and watching Quidditch as a bonus. Death Eater adoration of Quidditch, Percy found, was not limited to Marcus Flint.

He separated himself from the screaming throng as much as he could, and waited for the show to begin. He took no small amount of comfort in the familiarity of the voice of the commentator, Fred's and George's good friend Lee.

"The players are walking onto the field. It's the first match of the year for both teams, and Captains Spinnet of Gryffindor and Davies of Ravenclaw shake hands. Alicia Spinnet obviously has the edge in looks--"

"Jordan!"

Lee rarely was able to speak a line of commentary without a reprimand from Professor McGonagall.

"Sorry, Professor. As I was saying, Spinnet was a reserve as a second year and has held the starting position since her third year. Six five-year or more starters on an always-impressive Gryffindor team, as Spinnet is joined by Katie Bell, Angelina Johnson, Fred Weasley, George Weasley, Harry Potter, and newcomer Ron Weasley, the fourth of his brothers to make the team for Gryffindor. Give him a cheer, he looks nervous."

Percy smiled as the crowd responded to Lee's request. He was not close enough to the pitch to know if Ron actually did look nervous, but he was certain that Ron would do very well. It was something close to impossible to grow up in a wizarding family with six other children and not be a better-than-average Quidditch player. A good portion of Quidditch ability was also genetic, and Ron certainly had the same genes that Charlie, Fred, and George did. Ron had also worked hard for years to morph himself into a keeper extrordinaire. Knowing that Gryffindor's team was very young when he joined the school, Ron had set his eyes on the position of the player who was to graduate first, and that had been keeper Oliver Wood.

Keeper was not a bad position for Ron in any case, because the keeper often directed his teammates from behind, and Ron's chess prowess served him well in such a situation. The keeper was also more likely to collect individual glory than team glory, and Ron had long had a craving to be praised not as one of the Weasleys or as Harry Potter's friend but as himself.

Lee completed introductions as the balls were released. "Ravenclaw in possession. No, Bell intercepts . . . ." The match droned on casually for half an hour or so, with both teams scoring-- Gryffindor much more frequently-- and no sign of the Golden Snitch. Harry and Cho Chang, the Ravenclaw Seeker, crisscrossed the field, occasionally avoiding a Bludger or a Beater but never darting off quickly as if they had seen their tiny target. At last, Cho swerved downward sharply, but Harry did not follow. "Obvious feint on Chang's part," Lee said. "Potter wasn't fooled, and now he's telling Chang about it." He was indeed; Harry had taken both hands off of his broom in a sarcastic gesture, and Chang grinned back at him. "Keep your head in the game, Harry!" Alicia and Ron both echoed Lee's sentiments, and Harry resumed searching.

It was nice, Percy mused, that Harry was enjoying himself up there after the way his last year had ended. If rumors were to be believed, Cho Chang had been romantically involved with the murdered student and deserved a break just as Harry did. Still, getting caught up in a conversation with the other Seeker during a match was not wise.

Even better than Harry's obvious glee at being back on the Quidditch Pitch was the fact that Ron had finally joined his friend on the team. Percy could only see two of the hoops that Ron was guarding, but he could tell from his youngest brother's body language that he was in seventh heaven.

"This is one of the friendliest Quidditch games I've ever seen," said a voice beside Percy. Dumbledore had arrived. "I've never seen two players from opposite teams smile at each other during a game before. Not even Cho Chang and Cedric Diggory. But I suspect that it's rather a tribute to Cedric that they get along."

"He doesn't seem to want to hand the Snitch to her like a gentleman anymore."

Dumbledore laughed. "No, and she doesn't seem to be making as much of an effort to blind him with her beauty. I suspect she'll be more competitive when she sees the Snitch. Harry as well. They're just having some fun while they can. But on a more personal note, your brother is doing quite well up there. He's only let two goals by."

"He's been preparing for this for a long time."

"What about you? Have you _prepared_ anything interesting lately?"

Percy's stomach lurched. "All you can do is show up every day."

"Have you learned anything exciting at the Ministry?"

"There are so many exciting people at the Ministry. There's Macnair, you know."

"I do know. I know a great deal about him. I hope you learn whatever he tries to teach you."

"He doesn't work in my department."

"True, true. You don't have much seniority yet, either."

"None. But maybe my co-workers are starting to trust me."

"That's good news. I must be off. Say hello to your parents for me."

"I will."

Percy had now lost interest in the game, so he divided his time between staring at Ron and the twins (who were, as usual, violently effective Beaters) and scanning the crowd for Ginny's bright red head. He saw her at last, down near the front of the stands. Those seats were generally left to reserves or students whom the House captains otherwise expected to one day play for their team. Was Ginny planning to give being the fifth Weasley on the Gryffindor team a go, then? The team would be gutted next year, and Ginny would be good enough to help if she convinced Ron that she would be safe.

"_That's what I told Ginny," said Percy fiercely, "but she still seemed to think you're going to be expelled, and I've never seen her so upset, crying her eyes out, you might think of __her__, all the first years are thoroughly overexcited by this business--"_

"_You__ don't care about Ginny," said Ron, whose ears were now reddening. "__You're__ just worried I'll mess up your chances of being Head Boy--"_

The familiar haunting thought was back. Had he made the right choice? Self-doubt was not something with which Percy had a great deal of experience. He found that he did not like it at all.

He left Hogwarts as soon as the match was over and did not return until Christmas. He still had nothing spectacular to report, although he could now list the names of the members of the junior circle and even tell Dumbledore who was adept at what. Still, he would rather have spent his Christmas alone in his flat than traveling to Hogwarts, where he was supposedly visiting the twins and "the babies," as his family still sometimes called its two youngest members. (It had been "the big kids," the twins, "the babies," and Percy. He had always liked that he was given a name and not a group designation.)

In truth, he had no intention of speaking to any of them. What would he say? "Look at this beautiful decoration I've had put on my arm?" Or perhaps "Do the lot of you honestly think I wouldn't do anything in my power to protect you?" He only counted himself lucky that Bill's and Charlie's paths had crossed in Romania and his parents had gone to see them, since the twins didn't mind spending their holidays at Hogwarts and the babies flatly refused to leave.

Regardless of his plans, when Percy had finished his meeting with Dumbledore, he crept stealthily toward the Great Hall, where the students who had remained for Christmas were attending something between a dance and a party. The gathering was nowhere near as elaborate or formal as the Yule Ball of the previous year, but the older students were wearing dress robes nonetheless. Percy glanced inside, wanting to see his siblings either to remind himself why he was risking his life by playing a game he did not understand or to convince himself that he did not actually love them and truly wanted to become a Death Eater.

Fred and George were dancing with their Quidditch teammates, Angelina and Alicia. They were attracting attention as usual, and a small circle of students had formed to watch their nontraditional and enthusiastic dancing style.

Ron and Ginny were nearer the edge of the room, perilously close to Percy. Hermione stood between them, her prefect's badge accentuating the pale blue robes she wore. Ron and Ginny looked nice as well. Percy knew that the twins had somehow bought them new robes, and they seemed to be enjoying the opportunity to show them off. Where, though, was the expected fourth member of their group?

Percy heard Harry's voice before he saw his face. "It happens all the time," he was saying. "No one's going to remember for more than a day, especially since we're still ahead."

"But everyone is going to come back and find out I lost ten points over vacation! Then they'll say I should have gone home so it wouldn't have happened, and they'll all stop liking me if they do now . . ." The first year (Percy assumed from the child's height and attitude) was near tears.

"Are these the first points you lost?"

Percy slipped out of his hiding place to see the first year nod miserably.

"No one gets through Hogwarts without losing points. Ten isn't very many."

"But there are so many things you only lose one point for, or five."

"You know how many points I lost one night when I was a first year?"

"How many?"

"One hundred and fifty."

"That's not funny."

"No, it wasn't."

"You didn't _really--"_

"Yes, I did."

"For doing what?"

"I was in the astronomy tower at one o'clock in the morning with a couple of friends."

"Why?"

"That I can't tell you."

"And no one minded that you lost _one hundred and fifty_ points?"

"Well, they did. People who didn't know me very well. But my friends were my friends, and the rest of the school has forgotten now. And we won the House Cup anyway, we just had to play catch up."

"Your friends helped you lose your points, though."

"No. Not Ron."

"And everyone knew you'd be a prefect, and you must have already been a Quidditch star."

"_I_ didn't know I'd be a prefect, so I don't know how anyone else could have. And the Quidditch team was madder at me than anyone else. They wouldn't even say my name." Harry launched into passable impersonations of several of his teammates. "'Tell the _Seeker_ he's flying too high.' 'Make sure the _Seeker_ watches out for our attack formation and stays back.' 'Tell the _Seeker_ to hang onto the Snitch next time, it's almost the end of practice.' 'Hey, _Seeker_, heads up, that's a Bludger and I don't feel like keeping it away from you today.'"

Harry's impersonations had become so exaggerated that the first year was starting to smile. "So, I thought that they were so upset I should quit the team," Harry continued conversationally, as if this story was the funniest one he knew. "I went to the team captain. His name was Oliver Wood. He's a reserve Keeper now for Puddlemere United, have you seen him in their advertisements? Get someone to point him out. He's really built like a Keeper, and at this point he was probably a foot taller than me. He's a wonderful person, I'd never say he isn't, but the thing is he would rather die than lose a Quidditch match. He'd rather have any of his teammates die than lose a Quidditch match. Says so all the time. So I asked him if he wanted me to resign from the team. And he yells _'RESIGN?! WHAT GOOD'LL THAT DO?!'_ so the whole school can hear him. You know, the suits of armor are falling apart and Filch is having a fit. So naturally _Oliver_ lost points for _that_--"

"He did not," interrupted the first year.

"Well, no, he didn't. But he didn't make me quit the team, and no one wants you to quit Gryffindor. Look, you didn't know that when I was a first year I lost one hundred and fifty points, and next week no one is going to remember that you lost ten. Everyone loses points all the time. I lose them. You lose them. Ten points isn't a big deal to anyone but you."

The first year finally seemed to agree. Percy, who had been caught up both in Harry's prefectorial abilities and his Oliver Wood imitation, which was superior to either Fred's or George's, did not notice that he was observed as well as observing until it was too late.

"Percy!" He barely had time to brace himself before Ginny flung her arms around him. Small Ginny may have been, but she made up for it in energy. She had been known to bounce onto Charlie or Bill this way, but she was usually less physical with Percy, understanding, as everyone else did, that he spurned conduct that did not appear mature and professional. When Ginny backed off but did not let go of him, Percy became aware that she was actually holding him in place so that he could not leave without making a scene that involved tossing a slender fourteen-year-old across the room like a gnome.

Ron took two long strides and arrived next to Ginny. "Merry Christmas, Perce. Mum and Dad said you'd be here, but we thought you'd ditched us."

"Merry Christmas. Did you get your presents?"

They said yes, and chorused 'thank you,' but they were not to be dissuaded from interrogating Percy.

"What've you been doing?" Ron asked. "Mum and Dad have said loads of stuff about Bill and Charlie, but not you. They just said you got your own flat. Is it nice? Can we see it sometime?"

"Maybe. I'm busy, you know, with work, and I have to get back there." He moved to detach himself from Ginny, but she tightened her grip. _Trickier than she looks._ Not that Percy hadn't already known that; but the age gap between Percy and Ginny meant that he hadn't often been on the receiving end of her tricks.

"Busy with what? More cauldrons?"

"Ron--"

"I know I made fun of that before, but you did have a point. I mean, Snape would take points from us if our cauldrons leaked even if it wasn't our fault."

"That's true, but I really do need to leave."

"Do you like my robes?" Ginny broke in.

"You look pretty."

"Thank you. Harry said so, too. He asked me to the dance."

"As your _friend_," Ron broke in warningly. "Don't get carried away."

"And Ron's taking Hermione, but I don't think _he_ asked _her_ as--"

"Gin!"

"All right, all right." Ginny caught Percy's eye, and Percy nearly smiled. When he had started dating seriously, in his sixth year, he had asked Ginny to be quiet about it, and she done very well, lasting until the end of the term. Ron, by contrast, would probably secretly enjoy it if Ginny announced to the whole school that he and Hermione were an item-- if they were. "Guess what else Ron and Harry and Hermione did? They found out that Hagrid had Sirius' motorcycle in an equipment shed, and he hadn't touched it for fourteen years, so they cleaned it up and gave it back to Sirius for Christmas. Isn't that nice?"

"Isn't Sirius Black one of your professors?"

"He was, but just while Professor Dumbledore was working with the Ministry. He said I could call him Sirius, so it would be wrong for me to keep calling him Professor Black. Anyway, Harry got him a leather jacket like Muggles wear when they ride motorcycles, too, but Sirius said that was overdoing it and Harry was never, ever allowed to spend that much money on him again. But it was so _cute_."

"I'm sure they'd _love_ to hear you call them 'cute,'" said Ron.

"Shut up," said Ginny conversationally, turning from Percy for the first time. Percy seized his opportunity and disentangled himself, storming away from Ginny, Ron, and Hogwarts.


	5. The Terrific Three

**Part 5: The Terrific Three**

"Harry! Harry, _guess_ what I heard!" Harry rolled over and sat up at the sound of his best friend's voice. Half an instant later, Ron had thrown the red curtains that surrounded Harry's bed aside and jumped up next to him. Harry blinked sleepily.

"What did you hear?"

"You weren't actually asleep, were you? Gin said you just went upstairs fifteen minutes ago."

"Yes. No, I wasn't asleep."

"You weren't waiting up for me, though," said Ron, a playfully fake pout crossing his features.

"I knew you'd wake me up anyway, if you wanted to. I just thought you and Hermione would be gone a lot longer than this."

Even in the partially dark room, Harry knew that Ron's face was quickly turning the color of his hair.

"Well, that." Ron did his best to ignore Harry's statement, and then found that he couldn't. "Hermione and I just went walking away from everyone else for a bit." Ron continued to blush, and Harry did his best not to imagine in great detail why his two best friends had decided to get away from the rest of the students who had been celebrating Christmas at the party in the Great Hall. "We thought we were alone, but then we walked around a corner and we saw McGonagall and Snape. Alone. Together. Nice and private in an abandoned hallway." Ron raised his eyebrows suggestively.

"WHAT?"

"Just kidding. McGonagall and Snape were fighting, like usual. _Guess_ what she was saying-- you'll never guess."

"What was she saying?"

"She was gloating, you know? And she was saying 'Severus, tell me again after that display that Harry Potter hasn't got the mindset to be a prefect!' They saw you talking to that kid in first year who lost all those points!"

"It was only ten."

Ron rolled his eyes as if Harry was missing the point. "I don't care. I'm not going to hunt him down over it. But you made Snape mad without even trying! Isn't that great? He can't even punish you."

"He'll find a way."

"Yeah, he probably will. But isn't that great?"

Harry cracked a grin. It _was_ pretty great.

"There's something else I want to talk to you about. But I reckon we'd better talk to Hermione too." He hesitated.

"All right. Do you want to go back down to the common room or should she just sneak in here?" Hermione was ordinarily fond of rules, but she had never had a problem with crossing into the fifth year boys' dormitory when only Ron and Harry were staying there. Both Harry and Ron had teased Hermione about this habit, but Harry had found that he was sorry when, during their fourth year, Hermione had been unable to visit them on Christmas morning because virtually all of the school had remained for the holiday.

"She'll be in in a minute. I told her to let me make sure you were awake and all. Really, I just wanted to tell you about McGonagall and Snape without her lecturing. And, er . . ."

Harry was getting tired of Ron's inability or unwillingness to finish a thought involving Hermione. Was it going to be this way for the rest of their Hogwarts career? Hermione was one of Harry's best friends! Ron knew that full well.

"What about Hermione?" Harry finally prompted, hoping that his slight annoyance did not show in his voice.

"Oh. Well, the thing is, after we were walking and saw McGonagall and Snape and she wouldn't let me eavesdrop anymore, we-- we ended up alone, really alone-- and I kissed her."

"And?" asked Harry warily.

"I know, I know, I have to tell you this or Hermione and Ginny will. She said she was going to tell Ginny. We started laughing."

"You and Hermione and Ginny?"

"No! Hermione and me. When we tried to kiss each other."

"I'm sure that happens a lot," said Harry, though he was sure of no such thing.

"You don't get it."

"No, I don't," Harry admitted.

"It was so stupid. I thought I liked her. You know, _liked_ her."

"I know."

"And _she_ thought--"

"I know what she thought."

"Did she tell you?" asked Ron suspiciously.

"No. But I spend a fair bit of time with both of you. You might have noticed."

"I guess. Harry, we don't like each other."

Harry summoned all of his willpower to keep himself from saying "we don't?" He decided to wait for Ron to speak again.

"I mean, I'd do _anything_ for Hermione. _Anything_. Like I would for you, or for my brothers and Ginny. But I'd never tell _her_ that. She'd go all girlie and cry, or she'd make me mad at her and I'd be sorry I said anything nice."

"You want her to be your best friend, and not your girlfriend?"

"Yes!"

"She already is."

"Yeah. I feel so stupid. When she started getting pretty, I was jealous, _really_ jealous of Viktor Krum. And she was mad that I didn't ask her to the Yule Ball until late."

"I remember."

"I don't think that was about admitting that we _like_ each other. I think it was about admitting that we like each other. And on top of that, well, I _had_ just realized that one of my best friends is a girl. And a pretty girl. It never mattered before."

Harry nodded. "Got it."

"About time. You've been rather thick."

"And you . . . ?"

"I understood what I was saying just fine."

In response, Harry pulled his pillow from beneath him and threw it at his friend. Ron scrambled away and reached for his wand, and soon they were having a pillow fight that was much more fun than the Muggle kind.

At last, Hermione entered the room without knocking. "Honestly," she said. Harry and Ron turned around, and five pillows fell to the floor with soft thuds.

"Well, it took you long enough," said Ron as Harry tried to remember which pillow belonged on which bed.

"I was talking to Professor McGonagall. She wanted to know if I'd seen any rule-breaking at the party-- we don't usually do this, you know, but since there are more students here than usual for break because their parents think they'd be safer from You-Know-Who here--"

"We know," chorused Ron and Harry.

Hermione avoided Ron's eyes but looked pointedly at Harry. "AND since the OTHER Gryffindor prefect was nowhere to be found--"

"You didn't think of trying my dormitory? Where I live?"

"--I had to talk to her for an extra-long time. What did you want to talk about, Ron?"

"I was just thinking."

"That's a surprise," said Hermione at the same time as Harry said "It gets easier after the first time."

Ron looked at both of his best friends with a long-suffering expression on his face. "This is serious."

"Okay, we're sorry. Aren't we, Harry?"

"Yes," agreed Harry.

"Right, then," said Ron, apparently not too traumatized by his friends' estimate of his cognitive capacity. "This time last year, we were worried about who put Harry's name in the Goblet of Fire, and what the golden egg meant. The year before, Sirius had escaped and we thought he'd hunt us down, or rather hunt Harry down and get Hermione and me in the process. Then, Christmas second year, we made the Polyjuice Potion." Hermione shuddered. "And first year, Hermione wasn't here, but we were trying to work out who Nicolas Flamel was."

"And this year, we aren't doing anything but going to class," completed Harry.

"Except for getting attacked on a field trip!" Hermione objected vehemently. "Have you noticed that I only have one roommate now? Have you noticed that sometimes Seamus barely makes it through a class without grabbing his head the way Harry does when You-Know-Who kills someone? Besides, we're prefects, we have to set a good example for the younger students, and it gets more dangerous every year for us to break rules, it's _obvious_ You-Know-Who--"

"Hermione, would you let me finish?" Ron asked.

"Finish."

"There's always something going on around here. And loads of times we've been able to help."

"We haven't gone looking for trouble, though. It's come after us," said Hermione convincingly.

"I think it has. I mean, I think it's come after me. I mean, I think it's come after, well, did you see Percy at the Christmas party earlier?"

"No," said Harry.

"He was there. Is it normal for Percy to be somewhere and not let everyone know it?"

"You think something's wrong with Percy?" asked Hermione, looking suddenly concerned.

"He was here, and he didn't come talk to us. He was hiding from us, even. He got distracted and Ginny practically jumped him and held him down. We tried to make him talk, I even asked him about work, and cauldrons. It just isn't like Percy to shut up like this."

"Maybe he thought you were teasing him when you mentioned cauldrons?" Hermione suggested.

"I don't think so. Even if he did, he'd answer anyway. That's how he is. He likes to pretend he doesn't notice when people are making fun him. He thinks he seems more dignified that way."

"He could just have been distracted today, or had somewhere to go," Harry offered.

Ron shook his head again. "It's not just today. It's been off somehow for a while. That's why Ginny jumped him. Mum and Dad usually send us owls telling us how well he's doing, and how we should emulate him. They haven't said anything about him lately. It's hard to explain, but I know my brother, and I know how _weird_ it is for him to be acting like this!"

"Ginny agrees with you?"

"Yeah. I thought I was imagining things until I talked to her at the party when you were both off being prefectorial. She noticed the same things I did."

"What about Fred and George?"

Ron sighed. "Haven't asked them yet."

"Bill and Charlie?"

"Them either. Can I borrow Hedwig tomorrow? Fred and George are using Pig for something with their joke shop."

"Yeah, of course. We'll do that first thing tomorrow, and we can talk to Fred and George. Have you asked your parents, specifically?"

"No. They'd never give me a straight answer. There's a better chance of them telling Bill and Charlie and Bill and Charlie telling me."

"Right."

"Right."

"We'll find out what's going on, Ron," said Hermione in a voice that would have been soothing has it not been interrupted by a yawn. She struggled to her feet, suddenly looking exhausted.

"Are you all right?" asked Harry concernedly.

"Fine. Just tired. Long day, lots of stuff happened."

That was certainly true. Harry closed his eyes and was asleep almost before Hermione left the room.

The next morning, Ron, Harry, and Hermione walked to the owlery before breakfast with a short note to Bill and Charlie in hand. Harry asked Hedwig to hurry this letter if she possibly could, and she seemed to agree. Harry was certain that Hedwig was taking special pride in this job because it should have belonged to Pigwidgeon, whom Hedwig thought was something of a disgrace to the name of owl.

They began a whispered meeting with Ginny over their breakfasts, but the meeting was hard to keep private because the twins considered a whispered conversation an invitation to begin snooping. At last, Ron decided to forgo all planning and simply attempt to pry information out of his brothers. George was the slightly more sensitive, less outgoing twin, and so Ron turned to him first. The brothers' eyes locked.

"Do you think there's something wrong with Percy?"

George snorted sarcastically. "Ron, it would take all day and all night to list the things that are wrong with Percy. If that's what you really want to do with your time, we'll help you get started, but you're better off playing Exploding Snap or something."

Ron fought the urge to rise to his brother's bait. "I mean, do you think he's acting differently than normal?"

"Don't know." It was Fred that answered, as one really could not have a conversation with just one twin when the other was in the room. "We haven't seen him since before the term started. Have you?"

"Well, the day we were attacked."

"That's right, and Percy showed up to play hero. That sounds normal for him."

"Then he was here yesterday. For Christmas."

"That _is_ weird, Fred," said George, suddenly interested enough to put down his fork. "Mum wrote and said he'd visit us for Christmas, remember. But he didn't. Did he?"

"He was here, but he tried to avoid us. He would have, too, if Gin hadn't grabbed him."

"Why did you do that, Ginny?" asked Fred.

"Because I agree with Ron," said Ginny, her voice strong and confident as it always was when she attempted to talk sense into one or more of the six imbeciles she called "brother." "Percy hasn't been acting like himself. He'd barely even talk to us yesterday."

"Probably because you didn't try to talk about cauldron bottoms," returned Fred.

"We did," replied Ron and Ginny flatly, in unison that rivaled anything that Fred and George could manage.

George sighed deeply. "Look, you two-- since when do you plot together, anyway? I thought ickle Ronniekins was embarrassed to have his little sister hanging around?"

"Last night my little sister went to the dance with my best friend. She also happens to be friends with my date. And when our respective dates decided to play prefect, we started talking."

Ginny nodded, ignoring the poke at her position of annoying little sister. Ron was the best friend she could have imagined when they were not at school or in public, and the twins knew it. He had been gradually dropping the more annoying of his dueling attitudes toward her over the past year or so, and even if circumstances had been different, Ginny was too smart to fight Ron when she intended to fight Fred and George.

"You're determined to get into some kind of trouble, aren't you?" queried Fred.

"Pot. Kettle. Glass house. Rock."

"Not the same, Gin. Not the same at all. No one is ever in danger when Fred and I pull pranks or sneak around. We're just helping people relax. Every time Ron and his friends start planning something, at least one of them ends up unconscious in the hospital wing."

"And since the aforementioned former perfect prefect isn't here to be the one who gets the lecture for not looking out for his younger brother, it falls to us," took up Fred. No change in inflection or accent. Twins.

"We don't think there's anything wrong with Percy. Maybe you haven't noticed since you're younger than us, but he's been getting more distant for years. This isn't something new that we have to worry about now."

"No, it isn't. Hey, Harry?" Fred's brown eyes pierced Harry's green ones.

"Yes?" asked Harry with some trepidation. He had never seen the twins act quite like this.

"Is Percy good at Quidditch?"

"Er . . . I guess so." Fred, George, Ron, Ginny, and Charlie varied from talented to spectacular.

"You guess so. But you don't know for sure, because you've never seen him play. You've never come to our house in the summer and played with him, have you?"

"No."

"No." Fred turned to Ron and Ginny as if a great point had been proven. "He used to play with us. Then a few summers ago he locked himself in his room and didn't do anything but write to Penelope Clearwater, who, by the way, he did not even tell us he was dating. Percy's private. He's got something going on he doesn't want to tell you about, maybe, but I don't see why you want to go finding out."

"It's dangerous," George completed. "No sneaking out of the castle. None of that. Not now. You know what happened the last time we were all out of the castle."

"But maybe," Hermione suggested hesitantly, looking as nervous as Harry felt in the midst of someone else's family meeting, "maybe he knew you wouldn't leave him alone if you knew about Penny. You tease him about everything. Not telling you one thing so you won't make fun of him constantly and publicly isn't the same as not telling anyone anything."

Fred gave Hermione a look Harry had previously seen members of the Weasley family reserve for members of the Malfoy family, or at least for Professor Snape. "Don't tell me you know my brother better than I do."

"But she's right, his keeping Penny a secret was different--" Ginny put in, but she was overwhelmed by George, who had given Fred a warning look.

"Excuse my brother, Hermione, he's tired. Out late last night with Angelina."

Fred nodded. "Sorry, Hermione."

"Little brother, little sister, honorary little brother, and honorary little sister," proclaimed George. (Harry and Hermione both attempted in vain to look as if they were not touched by the addresses used for them.) "I am telling you right now to stop making more of this than it is. Stop looking for trouble, or you'll find it. End of lecture."

"That was a waste," muttered Ron as Fred and George punctuated the discussion by leaving the table. "Stupid hypocrites."

"We'll just wait for Hedwig to come back. We've got a better chance with Bill and Charlie, anyway, right?" consoled Harry.

"I hope so."

Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny spent most of the next two days wandering outside and scanning the sky for a glimpse of Hedwig's distinctive white feathers. On the morning of the third day, she arrived with breakfast and deposited a letter on the table between Harry and Ron.

Ron tore it open eagerly, and the other three huddled around him to read it as Hedwig took her pick from their abandoned plates of food.

_Dear Ron,_

_Thanks for your letter. Our holiday was great, and we're glad yours was too. Say "hi" to Fred, George, and Ginny for us._

_No, we haven't heard anything from Percy lately. He hasn't owled either of us in ages, but he doesn't usually unless there's a reason. You know how that is. (Got any more dragons you need evacuated to Romania?) We have no idea why he rushed away from you on Christmas. He may have been distracted or in a bad mood. It had nothing to do with you or Ginny. Trust us. We're older brothers. We know these things. Mum and Dad didn't say much about him when they were here. They just said he'd gotten his own flat and seemed to have gotten less uptight about work. _

_Charlie thinks Percy's got a new girlfriend, and Bill thinks he's taken a position in a top secret crime fighting agency. While we are older brothers and therefore know all, we sometimes get mixed radar signals. We are working out the kinks in the system._

_In short, do NOT spend your time wondering about Percy. He's fine. We promise._

_Love,_

_Bill and Charlie_

"Load of help that was," muttered Ron.

"Who's the letter from?" the newly arrived twins asked.

"Nobody," Ron grumbled, shoving the parchment into his robes.

"Aw. Ickle Ronniekins still mad at us?"

"Better things to do with my time. You lot ready?" he asked his sister and friends. As Hedwig had cleared their plates, they were indeed ready, and they adjourned to the Gryffindor common room.

Once they were alone in a corner of the room, Ron demanded "Anyone have another plan?"

"No," said Ginny.

"No," said Hermione.

"Maybe," said Harry.

"Well?"

"Well, right after that mess with Parvati and Padma, McGonagall and Dumbledore interrogated Remus and Sirius about the Marauder's Map."

"The what?" asked Ginny.

"It's a map they made when they were students here. If you look at it, you can see where everyone in the school is. Like, you can see if Snape's in his office."

"Wow."

"Wow is right. Anyway, I was using it, but Professor Moody, who wasn't Professor Moody, took it from me and McGonagall and Dumbledore took it from him."

"How did you get it?" asked Ginny, interested.

"They're twins and they're related to you, but that's not important. Dumbledore gave it back to Remus and Sirius. Didn't think it was a danger in the right hands, and thought they had a sentimental attachment to it."

"But they gave it back to you."

"Yeah. Sirius can never decide whether or not he wants me to break every rule I come across."

"You had it back and you were holding out on us?" asked Ron, sounded something like outraged.

"I didn't want to be tempted to use it unless it was an emergency."

"If you say that as a prefect--"

"Has nothing to do with being a prefect and loads to do with not wanting us to end up in the hospital wing at the end of this year, like Fred and George said the other day. There must be some way to monitor it. A schedule for watching, or a charm to let us know if he comes here."

"I know one that will work," said Hermione immediately. "Of course, we'd have to leave it on all the time."

"We'll hide it. And you have your own room."

"Not for long. Lavender's coming back, even if Parvati doesn't."

"Then what are we waiting for?" asked Ron enthusiastically. He, Harry, and Ginny stood up.

"One thing," said Hermione, making no move to join her friends. "Everyone has to promise to go for the others if they see anything. No tailing Percy alone, in case something _is_ really wrong. Promise?"

"Promise," said Ginny, pleased that Hermione, Ron, and Harry were including her.

"Promise," said Harry, knowing how dangerous these situations could become.

"Promise," said Ron, knowing all that Harry knew but crossing his fingers nonetheless.


	6. Unforgivable

**Part 6: Unforgivable**

Tonight, one of two things would happen to Percy Weasley. He would die an excruciatingly painful death, or he would be drawn deeper into an existence that was in many ways not his own.

Unhappily, he stood before his mirror and examined himself. His robes were plain and black, and his hood and his mask dangled from his hand. His bright Weasley hair seemed exceptionally out of place, in part because of its vibrant color and in part because it marked him as a member of the Light. Weasleys supported Albus Dumbledore and fought to defend the oppressed. Very noble, Weasleys were. They didn't do what Percy had done the night before. They didn't do what Percy was about to do, tonight.

With a burst of frustration, Percy raised his wand to his head, muttered a spell, and darkened his hair. It never had looked like it should have occurred in nature; some of his roommates at Hogwarts had claimed that it glowed in the dark. Now, it was still red, but a dark red, a red that matched his new wardrobe and his new lot in life.

A red that did not belong to a Weasley.

Percy was interrupted when an owl flew in through his open window. He turned, expecting to see his own Hermes, who had gone hunting several days before and had not yet returned. Instead, though, the owl was a medium-sized, dark-colored bird that Percy recognized as belonging to his brother Charlie. Quickly, he tore the letter from the bird's leg and used his wand to light the parchment afire before he became tempted to read it. Then he shooed the owl outside with no small amount of difficulty. The bird must have been told to wait for an answer.

Percy took the ashes of parchment in his hand and tossed them into a wastebasket, reprimanding himself for peeking at them to see if he could catch a glimpse of a word, or just of Charlie's handwriting. He needed to separate himself more thoroughly from his family, for his own image and for their safety. He was quite certain that Charlie had written to him because Ron had written to Charlie after seeing Percy at Hogwarts. Ron had a way of sneaking ideas into Charlie's head (why this was, Percy did not know).

The Christmas incident with Ron and Ginny worried Percy to no end. The babies had obviously decided that he was up to something, and the babies could hang onto an idea like a pit bull with a soup bone.

Percy stared in the mirror again. He truly did not look like himself with his hair this color. He did not feel like himself, either.

X

Macnair had attended the most recent meeting of the Junior Circle. His attendance was not unusual, and his role in the meeting was limited to observation. Or rather, his role had been limited to observation until the most recent meeting, when he had stood up and announced that he wanted everyone, in succession, to put the Imperius Curse on the person to his or her right.

Flint had tried in vain to put the curse on a boy named Lewis Steel who had been two years ahead of him in Slytherin, and then it had been Percy's turn. Between advanced Defense Against the Dark Arts courses and growing up listening to his father's stories, Percy knew a good deal about how the Imperius Curse worked, but he had never considered trying to cast it. He would not even have cast it on a spider, let alone a human being, given the choice.

Unfortunately, he had no choice but to take a deep breath and cry "Imperio!"

_Walk into the center of the circle._

Flint's eyes shone brightly as he resisted Percy's command. He seemed to hear it, though, and Percy thought harder.

_WALK INTO THE CENTER OF THE CIRCLE!_

The protest vanished from his victim's eyes. Flint walked into the center of the circle and came to a halt just in front of Macnair.

_Stand on yo-- STAND ON YOUR HEAD!_

Flint lowered himself to the ground and placed his head in the triangle formed by his hands. Gradually, he pushed his feet into the air.

Beads of sweat began to form on Percy's brow, and they did not appear entirely because of his innate distaste for his current activity. This curse was not easy to perform, and Percy wondered for how long he was supposed to hold it.

"Enough!" shouted Macnair as Flint's feet wobbled toward his face. Gratefully, Percy flipped Flint back to a standing position and ended the spell.

Flint glanced around as he came back to himself, his disorientation and embarrassment not entirely hidden by his mask and hood. As he retreated on shaky legs to his place in the circle, he growled "You always were a show off, Weasley."

When everyone in the circle had had a try, Macnair called Percy forward. "Who wants to try to resist him?" he called.

There were several volunteers, and Macnair chose a Durmstrang graduate named Paulson, whom Percy agreed had the best chance of fighting off a strong Imperius Curse. Percy did not feel that he was especially capable of _casting_ a strong Imperius Curse just then, but he summoned his energy to try.

"Imperio!"

_CLUCK LIKE A CHICKEN!_

"Cluck, Cluck." Percy wondered if Paulson had defeated the curse and was making fun of him. He sounded nothing like the chickens that lived in the Burrow's yard.

_FLAP YOUR WINGS! CLUCK!_

"Cluck, cluck!"

Paulson obeyed with more enthusiasm now, and Percy realized, to his abject horror, that he had indeed put a second Death Eater beneath the Imperius Curse. From the posture of the other young Death Eaters, Percy saw that they were torn between amazement and amusement. None of them seemed to feel as he felt: disgusted.

"That's enough." Percy ended the spell. "You weren't doing it quite right, or you would have been able to make the chicken sound better. _You_ know what a chicken sounds like, even if _he_ doesn't." Percy nodded, and Macnair turned to the rest of the circle. "You'll never make it to the Inner Circle if you can't learn to do that. I do commend you" and he looked at Flint "for bringing him to us. That will not be forgotten. In fact, you may come with us now. The rest of you may return home."

Everyone but Flint, Macnair, and Percy Disapparated with a series of pops. "Now," commanded Macnair icily, "we are going to pay a woman named Lola Anaya a visit. Apparate to the site of the Quidditch World Cup." They did so, easily, and Percy beat back memories of the World Cup. When the Dark Mark had appeared, and those Muggles had been sent into the air, Percy had fought to keep order. He had fought alongside his father and brothers to end the Muggles' torment. Things had seemed complicated then, but looking back, that situation had been as simple as simple could be. Now, he only hoped that neither Flint nor Macnair had seen Percy's attempts to calm the situation of eighteen months before.

"Lola Anaya lives in a half-underground hovel right over there." Macnair pointed. "She has more than enough money to live like a normal person, but she prefers not to. Visiting her tonight are three of her six children. Had far too many children, not unlike Weasley's parents." Percy shoved down a roar of rage, glad that he had grown up with Fred and George and gotten used to keeping his temper under the most extraordinary pressure. He did his best to laugh, but found himself unable to do so and hoped that he seemed not angry but tired. Casting the Imperius Curse was almost as draining as fighting it.

"All right," Macnair continued, apparently not noticing Percy's reaction. "Anaya has a nice supply of dried Progwater inside with her. We could buy some in Hogsmeade, but this is much more fun. Flint, you take out the son closest to the door. I'll get the other two. Weasley, Anaya is yours. But you aren't taking her out." Percy could hear the malicious grin in Macnair's voice. "Want to guess what you _are_ doing, Head Boy?"

"Putting her under the Imperius Curse?" asked Percy in as casual a tone as he could muster. He was indescribably glad that he had not yet been tested on Avada Kedavra.

"You're putting her under the Imperius Curse," Macnair agreed. "You'll get her to hand us the dried Progwater herself. After that, we'll see."

Percy's stomach lurched. He most decidedly did _not_ want to see.

"How many raids have you been on, Weasley?" asked Macnair almost conversationally.

"Counting the one before I was initiated? Er, eight, no, nine. This is the tenth." Percy had not really needed a moment to count. Each raid had been ingrained in his memory as a horrible ordeal, and he thought that a swift answer might give him away as someone who detested each and every memory of raiding that lodged in his mind.

"Getting to be boring for you? You don't seem excited."

"Appearances can be deceiving." _Good answer, Percy,_ he thought, mentally patting himself on the back.

Macnair seemed to like the answer as well. "In we go, then." Percy heard stunning spells fly in quick succession, and then he heard his own voice croak, for the third time:

"Imperio!"

Lola Anaya, Percy found, resisted less than Flint had. She was, he now remembered hearing in one Ministry-oriented conversation or another, a reclusive witch who had never been fully trained but who was something of a genius when it came to the brewing of potions. Her capabilities in that area were said to rival those of Professor Snape and the other top brewers in this corner of the world.

_DROP YOUR WAND!_

She did.

_GET YOUR DRIED PROGWATER!_

She scrambled off instantly and stopped in front of a cabinet built into her earth-like wall. She retrieved a large package and, staggering under its wait, turned to face Percy.

_BRING IT TO ME! GIVE IT TO ME!_

She obeyed.

_Thank you_, Percy thought, glad that there had been no complications.

"Thank you," said Lola Anaya aloud. Apparently, the curse became easier to perform with practice. Flint and Macnair chuckled.

"Any clever ideas about what to do with her now?" Macnair asked Percy. "Or how about you?" he asked Flint. "You've done well. You've brought us the only recruit who has enough magic and brains to perform an Imperius Curse."

Flint nodded.

"Never thought I'd see one of these," Macnair gestured at Percy "become a Death Eater. Never. You took a risk sponsoring him."

"It was worth it," said Flint.

"It was. And now that I think of it, he's just too obvious to be a spy. The Old Man in Hogwarts would never expect us to believe that he's one of us. So, what should your protégé do with himself tonight? He finds himself in an interesting position."

Flint answered eagerly. "Do you remember the night of the Quidditch World Cup?"

"Excellent taste. Excellent." He turned from Flint to Percy. "Get her outside."

_WALK TO THE DOOR. OPEN THE DOOR. WALK OUTSIDE. STOP_.

"Wingardium Leviosa!" yelled Macnair.

She rose off the ground, and the dead look in her eyes was briefly replaced by one of terror.

"Well?" Macnair demanded of Percy.

_PUT YOUR HEAD BETWEEN YOUR LEGS. ROLL OVER._

Macnair and Flint sniggered appreciatively while Percy tried to remember what else he had seen on that night that seemed so long ago.

_SPREAD YOUR ARMS! SPREAD YOUR LEGS!_

Percy guided her through a brief aerobic workout while his companions laughed even harder.

"I know she's old, but maybe you should . . . ?" Flint's voice trailed off suggestively.

_Not that._

"Not that," Anaya said.

"What are you? You even like girls?" asked Flint.

"She's starting to break through the curse," Percy lied. He tried to make it look as if he was having difficulty commanding her, but in truth she was not fighting at all.

_UNFASTEN YOUR ROBE! LET IT FALL OFF!_

She wore nothing but underwear beneath the robe.

_UNHOOK YOUR BRA! LET IT FALL OFF!_

Flint and Macnair pointed and shouted their opinions of the display before them. "Just a little more now!" exclaimed Flint.

"I'm losing control over her. She's fighting," lied Percy in a strained voice. "I've had her under for a long time and I'm not used to this."

"We have to stop sometime," agreed Macnair. "The curses we put on the sons won't last forever. Damn! Why didn't we think of dragging them out here to watch? At least we can always leave her here for them to find. You," he pointed at Flint, "stun her as hard as you can as soon as we drop her. No, petrify her." He ended his spell, and Percy ended his, wondering why he had not pretended to lose control sooner. Flint petrified Anaya (on his second try), and Macnair sent them home, telling Percy to expect company the next day.

Percy was unsure how he managed to Apparate to his flat. As soon as he did, though, he walked to his toilet, fell to his knees, and threw up. He lay on the floor for a moment and wished that it could have been longer. He wished never to move again.

Unfortunately for Percy's wishes, waves of mental paranoia were washing over him more powerfully than waves of physical nausea.

_They're watching me. They have to be watching me. They helped me get this flat; why wouldn't they be watching me? I can't look upset_.

He staggered to his feet and began to wash his face. The cold water gave him some physical stability, at least. He was almost able to force his mind to go blank as he went through the methodical motions of cleaning himself up and getting ready for bed.

_I humiliated a woman Mother's age. A woman with six mostly grown children, at that. What kind of monster am I? I took away her control, I degraded her , I debased her, and for no reason but that Flint and Macnair thought it was funny._

It hadn't been funny. It had been unforgivable. Absolutely unforgivable.

_But they're watching me. I know they can see me right now. I know it. I can't-- can't-- can't panic. They want to see if I'm a Weasley or a Death Eater. And after that display, I'm certainly not a Weasley._

He went to bed and buried his face in his pillow so that no uninvited observers would be able to see it. He lay there unsleeping until it was time to go to the Ministry. Work had gone as usual; it was much less strenuous now that he did not care what kind of product he turned out.

X

Thus, he found himself standing before his mirror the next afternoon and half-wondering where Percy the Perfect Prefect had gone.

A light rapping on his door forced Percy to postpone more advanced and detailed self-loathing to another time. He opened the door to reveal Macnair. A Death Eater knocking on a door? Percy found this highly amusing for a reason he could not name. Perhaps he was just lingering on the edge of hysteria.

"Are you ready?" asked Macnair without preamble.

"Very much so."

"Then we'll be on our way. Put the mask and the hood under your robes. We're two perfectly legitimate Ministry of Magic employees having a perfectly legitimate conversation."

_Perfectly legitimate? There's not a perfect thing about me._ Percy again had to force himself not to laugh-- a skill he had honed by pretending that he thought the twins' jokes weren't funny-- that Macnair believed he could be _perfectly_ anything.

They Apparated to Hogsmeade and discussed Ministry business to maintain appearances as they walked through the town. With ever-increasing dread, Percy noted that they were nearing Hogwarts, but they barely touched the corner of the grounds before veering off into a public forest that was seldom entered owing to its association with Hogwarts' infamous Forbidden Forest.

"This is a new meeting point," Percy remarked when he felt that it was safe to speak of something other than reports and visiting ambassadors.

"It's a very important time for us. We have to be ready to strike."

"At Hogwarts?"

"Where else? You aren't afraid, are you?"

"Dumbledore will not make this easy."

Macnair laughed his familiar, icy laugh. "How little you know."

Percy supposed that asking the question would not get him an answer, so instead, he reached inside his robes to take out his mask and hood. Macnair placed a restraining hand on his arm, and Percy cringed inwardly at his touch. "Not today," said Macnair.

"Why not?"

"You're being presented. Rather, I'm presenting you, so we both leave our masks off." He stopped suddenly, and his eyes bore into Percy's. "Are you sure that you want to join Our Lord?"

"How can you even ask that?"

"I have to. If you fail us, it will be not only your neck but mine and Flint's."

For the first time in his life, Percy considered that failing might have an upside. "I will not fail. I've never failed," he said as pompously as he could.

"Good," answered Macnair simply. In his next breath, he bellowed "ATTENTION!" so loudly that Percy jumped. Macnair grabbed Percy's arm once more and pulled him into the center of the circle that had suddenly appeared. "LADIES and GENTLEMEN!" he shouted, emphasizing every other word as if he thought it dramatic. "I HAVE the HONOR of PRESENTING the NEWEST member OF the INNER circle, MASTER of the IMPERIUS CURSE, Percy WEASLEY!"

The assembled circle bowed sullenly, keeping their masked faces raised so as not to present a vulnerable target to Percy. They were silent, but for one disbelieving voice, which loudly whispered "Percy?"

"STEP forward, OBJECTOR!" bellowed Macnair, obviously perturbed at having his ceremony interrupted.

A short, heavyset man did step forward, and when he removed his mask Percy saw that he had thinning blond hair and a strangely familiar, rather ratlike face. Percy had heard the story, of course, just after Sirius Black's trial. This man couldn't be . . . could he?

"Wormtail!" a frigid voice hissed, and, with a pop, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named himself appeared in the center of the circle. The Death Eaters surrounding Percy fell to their knees. "Arise," said He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named with some annoyance. The Death Eaters obeyed, and their leader gave the whole of his attention to Wormtail. "Why do you interrupt this ceremony?"

"M-- my Lord, M-- m-- master, it cannot be."

"What cannot be, Wormtail?" He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named's voice grew more threatening with each word he spoke. Percy would not have thought it possible.

"M-- m-- master, great master, this is Percy Weasley. I observed him as his pet for nine years. H-- he is not a true follower of yours."

"He has been initiated, Wormtail."

"B-- but, M-- m-- master, it cannot be."

"It _is_, Wormtail. He was initiated when you were on a certain mission for me. He has trained, and trained well. He has been branded. Show him, Weasley."

Percy extended his left arm to display the hideous, burning Dark Mark. Despite the fact that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named had just addressed him by name, his arm did not shake. He was beyond fear and beyond loathing.

"My L-- lord, he is a spy, I am s-- sure of it!"

"You will explain yourself in your next breath, or you will suffer the consequences."

Anticipation filled the air as Wormtail gathered himself. "My Lord, I have known this boy in a most personal way since he received me as a pet around the time of his sixth birthday. He has spent his life promising to dispose of us and our cause. His brother is the closest friend of the Boy Who Lived himself!"

"He is not his brother Ronald, though, is he, Wormtail? I believe you have reported to me in the past that your other young owner" and the assembled Death Eaters began to chortle "commented that this one cared for nothing but his own status and would gladly dispose of his multitude of brothers if they happened to be in his way."

_And he may have been right,_ Percy thought to himself. Nonetheless, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named's summary of Wormtail's report of Ron's words stung him to the core.

"Ron is p-- p-- prone to speaking rashly! Ron never believed what he said about Percy! Percy always went out of the way to p-- p-- protect Harry Potter when they were both at Hogwarts. P-- Percy has dated Mudbloods! He has befriended Mudbloods, and so made his own blood dirty!" The Death Eaters hissed in anticipation at Wormtail's accusation.

Again, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named looked directly at Percy. "What do you have to say?"

"My blood is as pure as yours, Wormtail," Percy answered, his voice as cool as Macnair's had been earlier. "More pure, as I do not hide it in the form of a RAT!" The Death Eaters tittered in appreciation.

He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named raised his wand, and Percy, living the nightmare of every child who had survived the Dark Lord's first reign, found himself interested rather than frightened. "Crucio!" Wormtail dropped to his knees at once.

"F-- forgive me, Master." He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named ended his curse, and Wormtail slunk forward, his ample belly pressed to the forest floor, to kiss his master's robes.

"Back to your position, Wormtail." As Wormtail scrambled backwards, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named turned to Macnair. "Does anyone else dare to question Macnair's decision to bring our young recruit into the Inner Circle?"

Percy was sure that no one would move a muscle in the tense silence; thus, the quiet rustling sound that seemed to originate behind the Circle was magnified many times. Before Percy or anyone else could turn to look, though, and a Death Eater stepped forward. Had he been the one shuffling his feet?

"I question Macnair's decision, My Lord." This was a voice that Percy knew all too well. He had heard it on a daily basis for the last seven years of his education. Generally, it had been taking points from Gryffindor. Dumbledore, it seemed, had desertion problems in more departments than just Defense Against the Dark Arts.

"You do, Snape." If possible, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named's voice had grown even colder. "I hope you are able to justify yourself better than Wormtail was."

"Dumbledore told me just today that he had a promising new spy. I did not believe that it could be this one, because none of us expected him to survive his training. Now, I beg you, My Lord, do not trust him. Do not allow him into the Inner Circle."

"You beg me? A Potions Master you may be, but I have never seen you beg to my satisfaction, Snape. We shall try to remedy that situation. CRUCIO!"

He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named left the curse on Snape for much longer than he had left it on Wormtail, but Snape neither fell to his knees nor cried out. Only when He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named finally dropped his wand did Snape drop woodenly to his knees and crawl forward to kiss the Dark Lord's robes as his former classmate had just done.

"You always were stubborn, Snape. That is both good and bad. But it has been a great length of time since you have been truly useful to me."

"My Lord, will you ever forgive me for forsaking you?"

"When you prove yourself worthy. Insolent! CRUCIO!" The curse was not so intense this time, and when it was lifted Snape simply kissed He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named's robes once more before retreating. The other Death Eaters bowed as well. "Continue," the Dark Lord snapped at Macnair.

Macnair bowed once more to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named before obeying him. "We HAVE with US," he said, "SOMETHING which BELONGS to OUR new RECRUIT. SOMETHING of WHICH, if WORMTAIL'S information is to be BELIEVED," he cast a dubious glance about and the other Death Eaters snickered once more, "our NEW recruit is VERY fond. He in fact EXCHANGED Wormtail for it."

In the dead silence, Percy heard a feeble hoot. _Hermes._

Macnair held up the screech owl for all to see. Then, he turned back to Percy and placed his wand on the younger man's left shoulder, trailing it downward slowly so that it rested perilously near his heart. "Do you SACRIFICE-- Hermes, I BELIEVE his name is-- to OUR cause?"

"Yes," answered Percy, fighting to keep his voice above a whisper despite his tight throat.

"WELL, then." Macnair removed his wand and pointed it at the owl he still held. "Petrificus! Wingardium Leviosa! CARPO! CARPO! CARPO!"

Hermes hung suspended in midair, partially paralyzed, as Macnair cast spells to pull one feather from his wings and tail at a time. When Hermes was mostly bald, and had ceased to look entirely like an owl, a figure-- Snape?-- stepped forward with a vial of potion. Macnair poured the potion over the still-struggling Hermes, and Percy could tell by the smell that it was the same acidic mixture that had been rubbed into his arm at his branding. Next, Macnair ended his chant of Wingardium Leviosa and began to bounce the owl against the forest floor, like a Muggle child playing with a ball.

At last, Hermes gave a feeble hoot and died with one accusing eye trained on Percy.

"Thank you for keeping a pet," said Macnair harshly. His showmanship had faded, some of his energy having been drained by the exhilarating experience of killing. "I _do_ love animals. The Ministry is so limited in its ideas of proper execution. Ladies and gentleman, he has survived his final test. He will now show you what he has learned. Crabbe!"

A burly man, who, judging by his posture and body type, looked very much like his Hogwarts student son, shambled forward.

Hermes was still staring at his owner, obviously threatening to have his revenge on him from beyond the grave.

_He was so young-- still a baby next to Errol. I was meant to take care of him. He was mine, mine, mine, and I just watched him die in the most brutal way this psychopath could invent. I let a defenseless animal, my defenseless animal, be tortured for some almost indefinable Cause. What am I? _

"As I was saying, I love pets. This one" Macnair pointed at Percy "had Paulson clucking like a chicken last night. I think we could do with a dog this time, though."

Percy nodded his understanding and leveled his wand at Crabbe.

"Imperio!"

_On your hands and knees! Bark! Be a dog!_

Crabbe knew more about dogs than Paulson knew about chickens, and was soon rolling on the ground with his tongue lolling out. _He makes a better dog than he does a person_, Percy thought, to the extent that he could think at all. Between the sight of Hermes and the events of the past few days, he was unable to concentrate on anything. He barely heard Macnair's voice when it told him to stop. It took him a moment to register that Macnair was pulling him into his new place in the circle.

"That's the best I've seen you do," Macnair whispered. "It was like you've been doing it for years and didn't have to pay attention anymore. Terribly powerful. You naturally channeled some loathing in there. That's the real secret to it-- anger. Hatred."

Macnair became reverently quiet as He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named sauntered back into the center of the circle. "Now that we have been properly entertained-- or at least as properly entertained as is possible in the face of Crabbe's utterly pathetic resistance, we shall return to our previous task. We seem to have found our missing piece. We will be striking at three o'clock this morning. You know your roles. You are dismissed as soon as you finalize any changes in plans with Malfoy."

With that, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named vanished. "Over here," said Macnair to Percy as a series of pops filled the air. A boy who was at least two years younger than Percy removed his mask.

"David Avery," he said, shaking Percy's hand.

"A second generation Death Eater," proclaimed Macnair almost proudly before vanishing. Surely he had his own job to do tonight.

"You're with me tonight-- or this morning," Avery explained. "You'll be allowed on your own later if you do well tonight. You have three brothers and a sister at the school?"

"That's right."

"Then surely you have some details on the unfortunate experience that the twins Patil were treated to last semester."

"Some."

"So you know that we had Little Miss Padma inside the Gryffindor dormitory while she was under the Imperius Curse."

"Yes."

"She planted a certain port for us, and the great thing is she didn't even know what she was doing. We'll force the protective spells down tonight by hitting from the inside with that and the outside with these." He held up a sparking, round crystal. "You've already helped us in this department. You and some of the other juniors raided Gilbert Wimple's briefcase and came up with this. The charm's so new Dumbledore himself can't have heard of it. I'll set it myself, and you'll use Imperius on anyone who gets near us. We'll be the team nearest the front door, so even though the spells can go down without us, we're still the most important. Understand?"

"Perfectly."

"Must've been hard for you to watch your owl die today," said Avery conversationally. "In such a big family, I don't imagine you've got much of your own." Percy ignored him. Ignoring blatant jabs at his family's size and financial situation had always been a part of Percy's life. While the jabs were more frequent inside the Death Eater community, they also seemed less important. Avery droned on as Percy tuned out. Even by Death Eater standards, the child was insufferable. He was so young that Percy was sure that this was his first opportunity to boss someone around.

A holler, though, interrupted Avery's diatribe. He and Percy both looked to the scene of commotion.

Percy had thought that perhaps he could no longer feel shock, fear, pain, or anything else. He was wrong, he decided, when he saw his youngest brother standing sandwiched between two Death Eaters.


	7. Unforgivable, Again

**Part 7: Unforgivable, Again**

"I told you so," Severus informed Crabbe and Goyle as they dragged the youngest Weasley brother into the light.

"What should we do now?" asked Goyle dumbly.

"You find Malfoy. You hold him still." Severus directed each in turn. They were obedient in a moronic sort of way, just as their sons were in Severus' fifth-year Potions class. So many people were so predictable; and not least in this predictable crew was Ron Weasley, who now stood before him, covered by Crabbe's wand. When the nosy little brat had happened upon the meeting of Death Eaters, he had not had the brains to head back to the momentarily safe castle. Instead, he had remained to observe and gather information that would likely kill him.

As soon as Severus had heard Weasley shuffle his feet in the dried leaves that covered the forest floor, he had seen the events of the night unfold before him as if in a crystal ball. The older Weasley might stand by and watch his owl die, but owls and little brothers fell into separate categories. Percy would use all of his considerable magical talent to save Ron, and in the process he would show his true colors. If Severus had told the Dark Lord of Percy's intentions before Percy even knew of them, so much the better. Thus, as soon as he had become aware of Ron's presence, Severus had stepped forward and taken his dose of the Cruciatus Curse, which, while painful, was preferable to death.

It was ironic. Severus had spent a fair amount of mental energy convincing himself that Percy was a true believer in the cause of the Dark Lord so that when Severus was exposed as a double agent, Percy would remain safe. Now, when Percy exposed himself, Severus would become safe again-- or as safe as a double agent could be. Then Percy and Ron, Weasleys that they were, would be held up as heroes (or martyrs if they did not manage to return to Hogwarts in time) and Severus would remain the barely-tolerated, unacknowledged brains behind the operation. He would have to take some points from Gryffindor for this slight. That would only be fair.

Severus raised the hood he still wore to get a better look at his new prisoner.

"You!" gasped the terrified, flush-faced teenager. "I knew you were working for them!"

If Ron had half the mental power that most of the professors at Hogwarts credited him with, he also knew that Severus had crossed the Dark Lord long ago and was actually working for Dumbledore. But Ron was upset and most likely more than happy to think the worst of his least favorite professor.

"Well, Weasley, I must say I didn't expect to meet you here tonight," said Severus in a voice somewhere between "Death Eater cold" and "immensely amused." "Thinking of joining the winning side?"

"Never! Not if my life depended on it! You can torture me!" Weasley was a typical Gryffindor. He thought that he was just _so_ brave although he had never been truly tested.

"Don't worry," Severus sneered. "We will." He delighted in watching Weasley's face turn from pure white to pale green.

"Severus," came the crystalline tones of Lucius Malfoy's voice. "Goyle tells me you have something to show me."

"Yes, Lucius. It's a most interesting thing. I believe it speaks for itself. Literally."

Malfoy drew nearer. "Look at this," he drawled slowly. "Another one. Want to be like your big brother Percy?"

"Shut up," said Weasley most unwisely.

"You are not in a position to give me orders," observed Malfoy. "I've heard about you from my son. It's a shame you and Draco don't get along better. I might be merciful then."

"I WOULDN'T WANT MERCY IF IT CAME FROM 'GETTING ALONG' WITH YOUR SON!" Weasley shouted. The shout drew the attention of the other Death Eaters who had not yet left for their missions. Percy Weasley and David Avery were two of the first to appear.

"What do _you_ have to say for yourself?" Malfoy asked Percy.

"Yeah, Perce, what's going on?" added Ron, half-snidely, half-pleadingly, as Crabbe tightened his grip.

"I don't know what's going on," said Percy coolly. "It seems like my little brother is somewhere he shouldn't be."

Severus would have raised his eyebrows at Percy's acting ability had he not known that such a facial expression would be noticed by Malfoy.

"Why don't you ask your brother to explain himself?" Malfoy continued.

"Ron? What are you doing here?"

"I-- I saw you cross the edge of Hogwarts grounds and I went out to see where you were going."

"You should have minded your own business."

"I'm sorry."

"So am I. I haven't learned the Cruciatus Curse yet, so there's no chance I'd be able to put it on you myself."

Much of the defiance seemed to drain from the younger brother at this revelation. Malfoy laughed delightedly.

"You don't have any objection to my dealing with this one, then?"

"No," said Percy simply.

"Wise answer. Your parents will thank you. One less mouth to feed, not that it makes much of a difference in a family like yours. Severus, I'd invite you to join me but I think you'd best complete that discussion you were having with Macnair."

"I will, Lucius. Good luck."

"You as well."

Avery and the elder Weasley brother vanished just before Malfoy did, so Severus replaced his hood and mask and sat down with his back against a tree to await Macnair and glare at Malfoy's retreating back.

Severus hated being on a first-name basis with Malfoy. When one was a Death Eater, at least officially, it was much safer to be favored by the Dark Lord's right hand than detested by him, but Severus still resented Malfoy each time he called him by his given name. He hated to be addressed in a friendly, familiar manner by the man who made his life even more difficult than it would have been otherwise.

Hogwarts, for years, had been a sanctuary for Severus. While his double agent role had been Dumbledore's reason for appointing him Potions Master, he had virtually been able to lose himself in the process of working and teaching until a watchdog had showed up in the form of blond-haired, pale-eyed Draco Malfoy.

Draco's presence at Hogwarts was convenient in that it allowed Severus to know just where he stood with Lucius Malfoy. Lately, his standing had been good. The Dark Lord suspected that Severus' innermost loyalty lay with Dumbledore, but his assistant seemed to trust him. If Draco's father had voiced suspicions about Severus to Draco, Draco would have stopped making comments about how he believed his Potions Master should be made Hogwarts Headmaster. He would have stopped coming into Severus' office rather more often than was strictly necessary, even for a prefect who had reports to give to his Head of House. Draco had done neither.

While Draco inadvertently reported on his father to Severus, though, he quite consciously reported on Severus to his father. If Severus said one nice word to a Muggle-born but talented student like Hermione Granger, Draco would tell his father that Severus was slipping. Severus had to be always on his guard when Draco was in the room.

Draco's presence was also painful because the parallels between his life and Severus' own were hard to ignore. Both came from notoriously Dark families that managed to keep themselves publicly clean. Both entered Hogwarts knowing more about Dark Magic than most Hogwarts graduates knew. Both were magically gifted. Both were made Slytherin prefects as fifth years. Both spent their first years at Hogwarts battling a black-haired Quidditch star named Potter. Neither would ever get the recognition he deserved because of the shadow cast by Potter, despite higher or comparable amounts of intelligence and bravery.

And Severus suspected that both he and Draco were all talk and no substance. When he had finally joined the Dark Lord's exclusive club, Severus had found that he was not ethically suited to the life of a Death Eater. Likewise, Draco talked almost incessantly about the impending triumph of his father's allies, but Severus was reasonably sure that the boy had never experimented on a hapless Muggle-born first-year and then wiped the victim's memory. Other sons and daughters of Death Eaters had done so and bragged about it. Draco wasn't even in the habit of pulling his wand first when he fought with Potter and Weasley.

Severus promptly ended his reverie when Macnair arrived. "Nothing like that sound," said Macnair delightedly. "Shame Malfoy isn't letting us help." Only then did Severus notice that Ron had entirely dropped his front of bravery and begun to scream. Malfoy was probably using a series of minor but painful hexes interspersed with the Cruciatus Curse on Ron. He would see to it that Ron was too weak to move or speak and then lock him up. When the attack on Hogwarts was completed, Ron would be tortured for information, killed, or set free; or so Malfoy thought. Malfoy did not know what Severus knew: that Percy would escape with Ron within the hour or that both brothers would die in the attempt.

Across the clearing from Severus, Percy's thoughts were neither as lucid nor as methodical as those of his former Potions Master. He managed to carry on a conversation with Avery even as Ron's cries filled his ears, but in truth he had no idea what he was saying. He needed to plan. He needed to focus just one more time so that this chapter of his life would be ended one way or another.

Option the first: Walk away from Avery, knock Lucius Malfoy's head off his shoulders, and march Ron back to Hogwarts, ignoring the fact that Hogwarts was about to be attacked by a ragtag collection of psychopaths. This option would have been attractive were it not for the fact that it would almost certainly end in his and Ron's deaths as well as a complete failure to complete the task Dumbledore had set for Percy. Additionally, Percy hardly had the right to sacrifice a chance to protect the lives of hundreds of little brothers and sisters at Hogwarts-- including three of his own-- so that he could attempt to save Ron's precious but single neck.

Option the second: Ignore Ron, who should not have been off Hogwarts grounds in the first place, and do his job. Whether "his job" entailed sabotaging the Death Eaters' plans or helping with them Percy was not certain. He needed to decide whether or not these charmed, sparkling crystals were actually a threat to Hogwarts' defenses. Ever since his experience with "Mr. Crouch," Percy had begun to doubt his ability to tell the threatening from the harmless, although he would never admit this doubt to anyone other than himself. It did seem unlikely that the Death Eaters would tell Percy the truth about their plans on his first night inside their Inner Circle. This option was almost as ridiculous as the first option, because Percy would be worthless as a spy and a person if he allowed Ron to die without doing a thing to help him. It would be unforgivable. Unforgivable, again.

Option the third: Stand where he was and wait for an opportunity to leave the forest with Ron _and_ with the ridiculous crystal, just in case. Malfoy most likely did not intend to kill Ron tonight, or Percy would have been invited to watch. Malfoy detested Father, and if Father could not be made to watch his youngest son suffer and die, Percy would be a welcome substitute. Ron would live, the Death Eaters' plan would be interrupted, and, as an added bonus, Percy would be able to cut his losses and end his spying career. It was ambitious-- but wasn't Percy _supposed_ to be the ambitious one in the family?

Hence, Percy waited. He kept Avery happy by giving him one opening after another to make a snide remark about Percy's family. He felt a guilty surge of gratitude when Ron's yells faded to whimpers and then to nothing. He stared at the shed (disguised to look like a large rock) that Malfoy had erected when he had seen Ron.

At long last, Malfoy emerged. "Weasley! Avery! Get moving!" he yelled almost jocularly before disappearing.

"He trusts me enough not to stay here and supervise me," said Avery proudly.

"Wow," said Percy with admiration he quite decidedly did not feel. "Hey," he continued slowly. "Are we the only ones left here?"

Avery glanced around. "Yes. That must be strange for you. I'll bet you've never been alone in your life, with all those brothers."

"That's pretty much true. We all live in one room. Sometimes we even share beds."

Avery grunted. "You learn loads of things from having a big family, I guess. How to wear ugly clothes . . . how to starve . . . all that. Seven kids in a poor family! I just can't get past that. I wonder how your brother took his punishment."

"We could go see," suggested Percy, hoping he did not sound too eager.

"That's against the rules."

"Malfoy isn't around. And I'll bet you know how to get in there."

"I do." He nodded firmly. "I pay attention." The young Death Eater was obviously waging an inner war with himself. As Percy suspected was often the case with the spawn of demons, personal amusement beat out following the rules. Avery and Percy crept toward the rock, and Avery quickly muttered a string of Latin words that Percy couldn't quite translate. The door of the rock swung open. "This rock's probably a nicer house than he's used to," said Avery conversationally.

Percy turned to Avery and gave him two black eyes and a broken nose before pulling his wand from his hand and tossing it halfway across the clearing.

"Wha-- what-- you'll PAY FOR THAT! I'LL MAKE YOU PAY!" cried Avery angrily.

"You and which army?"

"The Dark Lord's army."

"I don't think so." Avery had begun to swing back at Percy now, but Percy still had the element of surprise on his side, along with greater height, weight, strength, and age. He was also finding a glorious release in pummeling the daylights out of the self-satisfied apprentice of evil. In a short period of time, Percy had pinned Avery to the rock and was leaning a forearm against the teenager's throat. "How--" gasped Avery.

"I grew up with five brothers and I can't hold my own in a fist fight?" Percy inquired sweetly as he debated the merits of using magic to knock Avery unconscious versus just slamming his skull into the rock a few times. His self-control was starting to return, so he pulled his wand from his belt.

"Won't work," rasped Avery. "No magic in this area without lifting a ward _you_ can't lift." Avery smirked. Percy quite probably fractured Avery's skull before dragging him inside the rock and tossing him aside like a rag doll.

Percy had assumed that Ron was not conscious, but when he at last saw his brother, Ron's eyes were wide. "What took you so long?" he whispered with the closest approximation of a smile he could render at the moment. Percy fought the urge to cradle Ron in his arms and do what he could to make him feel better. They needed to leave right away.

"Can you stand?"

"I can try," whispered Ron hoarsely, using Percy as a lever and pulling himself up to lean against the wall of the shed while he got used to the feeling of being upright.

"Hang on," Percy whispered back. "I have to get that crystal." Ron nodded, not wanting to speak except when it was absolutely necessary. His throat throbbed so badly that felt that he had done more damage to himself by screaming than Lucius Malfoy had done by hexing him.

Ron watched as Percy fumbled through Avery's robes, looking for the crystal. Percy did not seem like the same person who had just beaten Avery almost into a coma. Instead, he seemed bumbling and nervous. Picky prickly prissy private perfect prefect Percy.

For all the times Ron had told Harry and Hermione that Percy would be willing to buy and sell him if he got in his way, he had never meant it. Percy's sentencing of Ron to Malfoy's torture chamber had felt more like a bad dream than had the torture itself. The concept of Percy actually hurting him had been as foreign as the concept of suddenly falling in love with Pansy Parkinson. Percy had not been the kind of big brother that Fred, for example, had been. Fred was directly responsible for Ron's almost crippling fear of spiders; Fred had used Ron's pet puffskein (if only it had been Scabbers) for Bludger practice; Fred had burned a hole through Ron's tongue with an acid pop. Perfect Percy would never have done so.

During the long-- moments? hours?-- Ron had spent with Malfoy, and he knew full well that it had been Malfoy though he had seen no faces but Percy's and Snape's, Ron had struggled to wrap his mind around the idea that he might have been right although he had never believed his own words. Now he knew that he had been right to believe that he was wrong, and, through his haze of pain, he knew that it was absolutely essential that Percy not know he had doubted him.

Percy, having found the crystal and run outside to collect Avery's wand, returned and wrapped an arm around Ron's shoulders. Ron winced as he reciprocated the gesture, and Percy winced, too. He wondered how much time had passed since he had been physically touched for reasons other than a Death Eater ceremony.

"We can't use magic at all in this part of the forest, so I can't Apparate us somewhere. We're going to have to try to run to Hogwarts and hope we can get inside. Do you want to try to run or do you want me to pick you up?"

"Run," said Ron firmly. He had very nearly caught up to Percy's height, and while he did not doubt that Percy could still throw him over his shoulder and carry him to Hogwarts, he did doubt that they would make it to the castle before they were discovered. Besides, being carried was for wimps.

The forest was pitch black, but Percy and Ron knew where they were going and headed straight for the place where the public forest, the Forbidden Forest, and the proper part of Hogwarts' grounds came together. Ron was leaning heavily on Percy but making good time for someone who had just been given his first taste of the Cruciatus Curse. Both Ron and Percy were thanking their lucky stars that Malfoy had not directed any hexes at Ron's lungs.

The forest's end appeared after a seemingly interminable shambling jog. Had it been broad daylight, they might have been able to see Hagrid's hut.

Had it been broad daylight, they might also have seen that they were not alone before hearing a cry of "crateris!" The earth beneath them shook and they fell to the ground in a tangle of arms and legs. "Thought you would run away, did you? I warned He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, but did he listen? He will listen now."

"Hey, Scabbers," said Ron, trying valiantly to raise his voice above a whisper. "Hasn't been long enough since I've seen you."

"Both of my young masters together and defenseless. It's almost cute, although you never were wretches like those twin brothers of yours. I almost regret turning you in."

"Then DON'T!" suggested Percy rather more desperately than he would have liked.

"Don't, Perce," interrupted Ron. "He killed Harry's parents, and they were his friends. We were only kids who wanted a pet and conveniently happened to be wizards."

"And you'll be convenient again-- umph!" The sometime rat struggled valiantly against the robes he suddenly found binding his body.

"If you can use magic, so can we," Percy explained unnecessarily. "Now we just have to get across--" he broke off as he surveyed the damage his former pet had done to the forest floor. A huge crater had formed at the edge of the forest. Percy pointed his wand at a tree, planning to knock it across the crater to serve as a bridge. His wand sputtered as if broken. _The wards must be up again._ He and Ron had already been spotted once; going around what looked to be a bottomless gap was out of the question. One look at Ron told Percy that his brother had reached the same conclusion he had.

Percy hauled Ron to his feet, and they took off running again, faster than they had run before. Three more steps. Two. One. The brothers' lanky forms served them well as they pushed off the edge of the crevice, stretched out their legs, and hoped that the force of their jumps would carry them onto Hogwarts grounds.

Percy landed firmly, but Ron precariously, and Percy only barely managed to shove his brother onto the grass. Ron looked up dizzily. The repeated beatings his body had been taking that night seemed to be catching up to him. It was about time.

"Just a little bit more," Percy whispered, feeling for the first time that they might actually survive the journey to the castle. Ron moaned in response. Whether he had intended to say something more coherent was a mystery to Percy.

"Percy. Let him stay down." Percy jumped back to his feet, wand drawn, before realizing that the voice belonged to Professor McGonagall, the head of Gryffindor House. She conjured a stretcher and floated Ron's body onto it without removing her eyes from Percy.

"Ron? Can you hear us?" Percy did not need to look to see to whom the other two voices belonged. Harry Potter and Hermione Granger would naturally have been the ones to notice that Ron was missing. "Percy? Are you all right?" Hermione was asking now. "Oh my--" she staggered backwards. Percy wondered what about his appearance had startled her into speechlessness.

"Leave him alone, Miss Granger," McGonagall commanded. "You and Potter see that everything is all right in the common room and find the twins and Ginny, please. Then you may meet us in the hospital wing." Harry and Hermione hesitated, eyes fixed on Ron's prone form. "NOW!" Hermione grabbed Harry's arm, and the two took off running.

"And you," said McGonagall to Percy with disorienting calmness, "Professor Dumbledore is expecting you in his office." Percy trudged the rest of the way to the castle in silence, though the crystal was still heavy in his pocket.


	8. Forgiven

**Part 8: Forgiven**

Severus stood in the shadows, listening as Dumbledore extracted Weasley's tale of the night's events. Thus far, Weasley had given a very accurate report, and had needed little prompting from the Headmaster. He had not even interrupted himself to ask questions. When Weasley finished speaking, Dumbledore began to analyze the crystal, after having an emergency conversation with the Department of Experimental Charms.

"So it really is dangerous?" Weasley asked at last.

"Yes, it is. The Death Eaters have reason to believe that they actually can breach the castle's defenses tonight. However, they are wrong. Is there anything else you need to tell me?"

"No, Sir," he answered hesitantly.

"Are you certain?"

"I'd like to know what happens next."

"We all would. This is why we employ Professor Trelawny."

Weasley seemed to be nonplused. "I'm not an undercover agent anymore. I've blown my cover."

"And rather spectacularly."

"Am I going to testify? Are we going to put Macnair and the others in Azkaban?"

"No."

"No?"

"Your hearing is very good, I see."

"Why not?"

"Several reasons too complex to explain. I _will_ tell you that the Death Eaters would be most surprised if, after learning that I took your reports seriously, I did not attempt to discharge Professor Snape from my service. He, as you may have guessed, is my most useful spy and has been for more than fifteen years. I will also tell you that the only crimes you actually witnessed being performed were those performed by Macnair and Marcus Flint. As they sponsored you, they will be punished by their superiors far more severely than our courts would punish them. Discord amongst the Death Eaters is something we can benefit from, something we even cultivate."

"Can I go back to the Ministry, then?"

Dumbledore smiled sadly. "Not just yet. You will most likely be stranded at Hogwarts for a few days, and that will give us time to invent a seemingly legitimate reason for your leave of absence. I hope, but I doubt, that you will be able to avoid going into hiding. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'd like to personally assure myself that Gryffindor Tower has been emptied of students. I suggest that you go see that your brother is recovering well." Weasley nodded stiffly as Dumbledore left the office.

"Severus," he said softly when he saw the Potions Master. "I thought you were here. Do you agree with Percy's version of events?"

"Yes. The attack will take place soon. I'll be planting this near the rear of the castle." He held up a crystal similar to the one Weasley had given Dumbledore.

"By all means. One more thing."

Severus gave Dumbledore a questioning look.

"How long were you under the Cruciatus Curse? Have you spoken to Madam Pomfrey?"

"Less than two minutes under a light version and no. I'm still potentially useful to him. He's not ready to do me permanent physical damage."

Dumbledore's face hardened. "Take care of yourself, Severus. Do you want to teach tomorrow?"

"Yes. Assuming we still have a school tomorrow."

"I imagine that we will. Have fun sabotaging the building, though."

Severus did not bother to respond before sweeping into the Headmaster's office where Weasley still sat. He was not entirely certain as to why he was so drawn to his former student. Weasley had not lasted six months in Dumbledore's service, but he would surely be comforted and praised as if he were a hero. Severus, on the other hand, would have to teach lessons the next day as if nothing had happened, and his contributions to Dumbledore's Cause would remain unacknowledged as they had for most of his adult life. Severus was tired, sore, and busy; yet he was about to attract the attention of a nineteen-year-old whom he did not even like.

"Weasley?"

His head shot up. How Weasley had managed to last even a short period of time amongst Death Eaters if his powers of observation and awareness were so lacking was a mystery to Severus. "Yes, Sir?"

Severus felt his lip curl into a smirk. Nothing made up for a bad day like the simple pleasure of the hint of fear a Gryffindor's (or a Gryffindor graduate's) voice always held when it called him "Sir."

"I believe the Headmaster told you to go see your brother."

"Yes, Sir." Weasley rose to his feet. "Thank you, Sir," he added, although Severus was unsure exactly for what he was thanking him. The only thing he had particularly done for him had been switching the veritaserum with a harmless potion. He wondered if Weasley had worked that out. There was one way to assuage his curiosity.

"You're welcome." His tone of voice was intended to leave the listener in considerable doubt as to whether he meant his words. "I nearly regret taking the risk and switching the potions since you lasted such a short time in your position." An unspoken question appeared in Weasley's eyes, quickly followed by a flood of relief. Severus smirked again. "Are you telling me that after _seven_ years in my class you are still unable to recognize the properties of a potion as dangerous as veritaserum even when you have supposedly swallowed it?"

"No. No. I knew it wasn't veritaserum because I didn't have any trouble lying after I took it. And no one did the tests, to see if it turned parchment red, and the flask wasn't sealed either--"

Severus had no doubt that Weasley would launch into a list of the properties and ingredients of veritaserum (probably without making a mistake and thus providing Severus with a moment of fun), so he cut him off. "I'm not your professor anymore. I wrote you and the rest of your class off as lost. Now get out of here and into the hospital wing."

Weasley looked slightly flustered but made no move to leave just yet, so Severus sneered at him and waited for the inevitable question.

Weasley was magically powerful and had a talent for remembering academic facts, and Severus had been hard pressed to find realistic reasons to object to his appointment as Head Boy, but he had his fatal flaw, like all the pseudo-heroic types did. Severus could spot fatal flaws within days, sometimes within moments, of meeting someone. This talent made him a worthy adversary and a successful double agent.

James Potter's downfall had been his blind faith in Sirius Black. Potter had been convinced that as long as he trusted Black, he needn't have worried about anyone else. Wrong.

Sirius Black had been, and still was, much too proud of his own pathetic intelligence. He deeply believed that if he did something, then by definition it must be right.

The werewolf overcompensated. That one was simple enough.

Harry Potter was something like his father and godfather. He was too wrapped up in the ideals of decency to see a strike coming, and thought himself invincible and therefore above the rules. That character trait was almost to be expected from someone who had cheated death so many times; but Severus did not have to like it.

Hermione Granger froze when confronted with something that she could not learn from a book.

Ronald Weasley never bothered to control his temper-- which admittedly could mean salvation as easily as death depending on the circumstances-- and was emotionally infantile even for a fifteen-year-old.

And Percy Weasley, aside from maintaining an unhealthy and unpopular obsession with rules, had lately begun to have days in which he did not understand his own priorities. He quite probably had his own brothers to thank for this situation. Severus' sneer became a smirk.

"Sir?"

"Mr. Weasley? Why are you still here?"

"Why did you turn Ron in?"

"Someone needed to. He would not have been able to leave the area without detection, and as I benefited from being the one to detect him I didn't see why I shouldn't do it."

"But if I hadn't been there--"

"If you hadn't been there, he wouldn't have been there."

"But I wouldn't necessarily have--"

Severus had never been in the habit of allowing Gryffindors to finish stupid protestations. "What was it that Barty Crouch said to Potter last spring? 'Decent people are so easy to manipulate?' Now I suggest that you leave this office and go down to the hospital wing or, student or not, I will make you wish that you did." With that, Severus spun on his heel, robes swishing behind him, and stalked off to a hidden entrance at the rear of the castle, which would be a fine hiding place for one of the Death Eaters' crystals.

Percy obediently followed Professor Snape from the room, but he had no intention of going to the hospital wing. The miserable things that he might find there were almost too numerous to list, but he began to list them anyway.

One. Ron could be dead.

Two. Ron could be permanently disfigured or disabled.

Three. Ron could be in serious pain.

Four. Someone could be there waiting to tell Percy that because he had gone after Ron, Hogwarts was about to fall to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.

Five. Someone could be there waiting to tell Percy that he had accidentally beaten David Avery to death, or at least into a coma. Whatever Avery may have been, Percy did not fancy himself a murderer of children.

Six. A Death Eater could be waiting to kill Percy. This situation would have an upside in that Percy would then not have to deal with the other potential situations.

Seven. A Death Eater could be waiting to torture Percy, having already tortured or killed Ron.

Eight. His parents could have come to Hogwarts, having seen that his and Ron's hands on the family clock had found their ways to "mortal peril." Percy shuddered involuntarily. Molly Weasley was much, _much_ more frightening than He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. The prospect of Mother telling the twins and Ron "Don't be like your brother Percy, no matter what you do-- be like Bill," bothered him more than he cared to admit.

Nine. Ginny could be there, ready to make an insightful comment. Why had Mother and Father insisted on having a seventh child, anyway? Weren't six enough? Did they really need one who was actually perceptive?

Ten. Fred and George could be there, ready with a list of Death Eater jokes. Percy felt as ill-equipped to handle the twins' sharp tongues as he was Ginny's virtually clairvoyant observations tonight.

Eleven. Ron could accuse him, Percy, of wanting him, Ron, to die. Again.

Twelve. Someone could accidentally see the Dark Mark on his arm.

Thirteen. Someone could _ask_ to see the Dark Mark on his arm.

Fourteen. The ghost of Hermes could arrive to tell Percy just what a failure he was.

Fifteen. The ghost of Hermes could arrive and have his revenge on Percy.

Sixteen. Ron could tell the world just what Percy had allowed to become of Hermes.

Seventeen. Percy could be revealed as the Master of the Imperius Curse.

Eighteen. Percy could suddenly go mad and put the Imperius Curse on innocent people for no reason. At least Harry seemed to be able to throw it off with no trouble.

Nineteen. Percy could remember the horror he had felt when he had committed an unforgivable sin against Lola Anaya and start shaking or crying again. The twins would surely never let him live that down.

Twenty. Percy could become physically ill and faint. He felt neither hungry nor tired, but intellectually he knew that spending days without food or rest was not the best of all possible ideas for someone who did not want to give his twin brothers more ammunition.

Twenty-one. Percy could be brought to trial for his crimes without warning and right in Hogwarts. It had happened to Sirius Black.

Twenty-two. Percy's evil presence could spontaneously combust upon entering a place as free of Dark motives as the hospital wing.

Twenty-three. Madam Pomfrey could insist on examining Percy and find that he had no heart, and it was no wonder that he had been able to bide his time and listen to his youngest brother's screams.

Twenty-four. Madam Pomfrey could deem Percy unworthy of entrance.

Twenty-five. Someone could bring word that Scabbers had escaped but had, instead of rejoining He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, opted to write a tell-all book about embarrassing things that Percy did when he thought that he was without human company.

As many good reasons as Percy had for leaving the safe confines of the castle, or at least for staying away from the hospital wing, he found his feet slowly but surely guiding him to Madam Pomfrey's realm. The thought of interacting with his family terrified Percy, but the thought of assuring himself that they were safe may as well have been a siren song. He was pulled toward the hospital wing as if by a portkey.

Madam Pomfrey was nowhere to be seen. Percy supposed she had retreated to her office. He could not see Ron, either, but Ron's usual entourage was standing by the foot of a bed inside a private room with an open door, so odds were good that Ron was indeed present. Hermione was not crying, and Harry's posture was not defeated, so it was obvious to Percy that Ron was just fine. As Percy watched, Hermione's head turned, followed by Harry's, and Hermione caught Harry by the arm and dragged him to the door. Her eyes were uneasy, as they had been outside the castle, when she studied Percy.

"He's all right," she said with pseudo-calm. "He's asleep, not unconscious. He didn't take the sleeping potion, so it's sitting on the table if he needs it later. You could probably even wake him up if you wanted to. Harry and I have to go check on the Gryffindors. They're sleeping in the Great Hall tonight, and you know how things get when that happens. Come on, Harry." Harry obediently followed Hermione, not having said a word.

"Thanks, Hermione," Percy called lamely after them. Then, cautiously glancing around so as to assure himself that he was indeed alone, he crept to Ron's bedside. Ron was sleeping peacefully, and looking perfectly comfortable. _How does he manage to be so relaxed? Is he just that used to escaping at the last second from rampaging werewolves and living chess sets and whatever else I never heard about? I don't expect I'll ever sleep like that again._

Percy watched Ron's even breathing for a moment longer before abruptly, impatiently, and uncharacteristically reaching out to shake his shoulder. Ron's eyelids lifted slowly. He did not like to be awakened prematurely in the best of circumstances. Still, Percy could not reprimand himself for his rashness. He could not explain how much he needed to see Ron in a state other than sleep, which too closely resembled death; but he could feel that need, and it was all-encompassing, leaving no room for self-inflicted lectures about giving his brother's battered body time to regenerate.

"Perce?" asked Ron groggily. His voice had obviously been restored by some potion or other. "What's wrong?" Percy did not need to answer, though, for Ron's brown eyes deepened as he became aware of his surroundings. He half-smiled. "I thought it was the middle of the night in the Burrow."

"I wish," answered Percy more fervently than he intended.

"The castle's going to be all right?"

"Dumbledore says so."

"Dumbledore wouldn't say that if it wasn't true."

"No, but I'll feel better once they actually strike."

"Glad I didn't sleep through it."

"I'm sorry I woke you up."

"Don't be. I hate to be asleep when there are Death Eaters running around."

"Including me? You always said I _put_ you to sleep."

"You aren't a Death Eater."

"How much did you see tonight?"

"Oh, that." Ron brushed the event off as if it was the least important thing he had ever witnessed.

"Yes, that."

"So you were a spy." Ron still did not seem remotely interested. "What happened to Wormtail?"

"I told Dumbledore where we left him and he asked Hagrid to go look, but Hagrid said he was gone. The cords from my wand were still there, and not broken. I guess Wormtail transformed."

"Damn!" For the first time, color shot into Ron's face, and he sat up part way. "I thought maybe he wouldn't be able to transform with that fake arm You-Know-Who gave him."

"I think it works the same way clothes do. It's like Professor McGonagall keeping her glasses when she transforms."

"Still, did you see that arm? It was even worse than Harry said it was!" Ron shuddered slightly.

"Mm-hm." Percy was quite obviously distracted, causing Ron to rise further up on his stack of pillows.

"Perce?"

"Yes?"

"What aren't you telling me?" The concept of Percy not telling Ron something had been a foreign one until recent months. Previously, he had told Ron all sorts of things, very few of which Ron cared about. Ron had never expected to miss hearing Percy's voice.

"Nothing. All I've done since I left you was tell Dumbledore what happened. I don't even know how Harry and Hermione and Professor McGonagall ended up meeting us."

"Do you want to know?"

"Why not."

"Don't get irritated."

"I can't promise that."

"Then I can't tell you."

Ron watched as Percy weighed his options. "All right, then. I won't get irritated."

"Around Christmas, Ginny and I got to talking about you. We didn't think you were acting like yourself, so we decided to find out what was wrong. We-- Hermione mostly-- we knew how to alert ourselves if you stepped on Hogwarts grounds, so we could track you and see if you were up to anything. Harry and Hermione made me promise not to go without them, but yesterday evening, you stepped on the corner of the grounds when they were at one of those stupid prefects' meetings." Ron waited for Percy to give him a lecture on the vital importance of prefects and their meetings, but Percy remained quiet. "So when they got back and I was gone, and they found the map I used, they went right to McGonagall and told her that I was gone and why. She went to Dumbledore, and then she went out after us." Ron smiled again. "She said it was the Eighth Magical Wonder of the World that Harry and Hermione actually went for help instead of chasing us themselves. That's probably why she let them come out. She wanted to encourage them to go to her next time, too. She seems to think that the three of us get in a lot of trouble," Ron ended with mock-indignance before throwing Percy a bright grin, which Percy did not return. "What? You said you wouldn't get irritated."

"I'm not," Percy answered slowly.

"Then what?"

"I'm--" he hesitated-- "sorry. I'm so sorry that I didn't do a better job covering myself and you got hurt. I'm sorry I waited so long before I got you out of there-- it was the only thing I could do--" he broke off, staring at Ron, eyes anxious behind his glasses.

Ron, for his part, was more confused than anxious. Confusion gave way to deja vu, and Ron struggled to match his nameless feelings to another time. At last, he placed them with no small amount of surprise as he remembered the day that he had learned that facing down a mountain troll was one of the things you could not share with someone without getting to like that person.

Esacping from the Dark Lord's Inner Circle was another one of those things. Ron had never exactly_dis_liked Percy for longer than a day or two. Percy and Ron were brothers. Sometimes they liked each other and sometimes they did not, but there was no serious bad blood between them. Ron could anger quickly, but a lecture about the dangers of sneaking out of Gryffindor tower after hours did not merit the maintenance of a grudge. Besides, when they had been younger, and the controlling aspect of Percy's personality had not been quite so strong, they had been friends. Four years was not such a great gap in age when you were playing chess or Quidditch. Recalling the twins' insistence that Percy had not begun to act strangely after the Death Eater attack on the Hogwarts field trip, Ron wondered when exactly Percy had stopped joining in the family games.

_You should say "thank you,"_ a voice inside Ron's head suggested strongly. He had thanked the last annoying rule-enforcer who had gotten him out of trouble, after all, and things had worked out rather well thereafter.

"Thanks, Percy," he muttered in a strangled sort of way.

"I really didn't want you to get hurt--" Percy continued nervously, and Ron had to work hard to interrupt him.

"PERCE!"

"What?"

"I didn't mean thank you for being sorry. I meant thank you for saving my life when I was being really, really stupid."

"You weren't being stupid."

Ron snorted. "This is right up there with the time Harry and I tried to talk to an Acromantula."

"You and Harry-- never mind, I don't want to know." Percy's face, which had relaxed slightly into disbelief, tightened again. "You weren't being stupid. You were doing what you thought was right, because I was doing a terrible job playing double agent."

"It didn't look to me like you did a terrible job."

Percy's face began to flush, drawing Ron's attention to how white it had been previously. "Ron, I blew my cover. I let you get tortured. I didn't stop the attack on Hogwarts. I didn't catch Wormtail. I let Hermes die. I performed Unforgivable curses. Dumbledore trusted me, and I failed in every way you can possibly fail!"

Ron's voice began to rise to match Percy's. "What did you want? You wanted to get into the Inner Circle without doing any of the things that Death Eaters do?" Percy was silent, but his eyes spoke volumes. "That's impossible. That's just impossible. Can't be done. I know we always _called_ you the Perfect Prefect, but I never knew you actually believed it."

"Believed what?"

"That you're perfect. Don't like it down here with us ordinary sorts, then?"

"I didn't say that!" Percy's face reddened further.

"You said that you thought you should have been able to keep the Death Eaters from attacking and kidnap one of the top people in You-Know-Who's organization without casting curses or sacrificing your owl to their stupid tests. No one could do that. Do you think you're that much better than everyone else?"

"I thought I was good. I worked hard to become good. So?"

"So, working hard and being good is one thing. I've spent half my life listening to people tell me to try to be as good as you. But even Mum doesn't claim you can do the impossible."

"All right," said Percy quietly, but Ron was ranting and chose to ignore him.

"I get that you wanted to be Head Boy. There are seven of us and it's hard to make people pay attention to one of us separately. The only time anyone thinks of me as special is when I'm playing _chess_, of all things. But the professors all love you, Mum and Dad are pleased with you, and you got into the Ministry. You were a model Hogwarts student and you're a model everything else. Everyone approves of you. You have this incredible reputation that the twins and Ginny and I are never going to be able to get near. Do you know how hard it is to be your little brother?" Ron stopped to draw breath.

"I said 'all right,'" answered Percy even more quietly.

"_Do_ you know how hard it is to be your little brother?" Ron repeated, not really caring that he had gotten off the subject.

"Is it something like being Bill and Charlie's little brother?"

"Being Bill and Charlie and Percy and Fred and George's little brother is a lot worse than just being Bill and Charlie's little brother."

"So you've said. Often. And loudly."

"There's just nothing I can do that none of you have already done."

"I don't think any of us have talked with an Acromantula."

"That's something to write home about."

"If you like Howlers, I suppose it is."

Ron chuckled at the thought of soliciting Howlers, and when he looked at Percy again he noticed that his face had returned to its ashen color. "Perce? Want to sit down? You can sit on my bed, I'm really all cured, or you could pull the bed over there closer."

Percy shook his head in the negative. "I have to leave soon."

"How? The castle is about to be attacked, and if Dumbledore had given you anything to do you'd be doing it already."

Percy shrugged.

"What?" asked Ron.

"What, what?" A staring contest ensued, with the better-rested Ron emerging victorious.

"Did you honestly think--" Percy blurted out before stopping himself.

"Did I honestly think what?" asked Ron, but Percy was not inclined to pick up where he had left off. Sharing insecurities with one's brothers was a Very Bad Idea. Ron, though, resumed staring, and Percy gave in. It was entirely possible that the world would end within the next few years-- or minutes-- so the danger of explaining his thoughts to Ron seemed less than usual.

"Did you honestly think I would leave you there to die?"

"No."

"Just 'no?'"

"Just 'no.' What else should I say? You wouldn't do that."

"But you saw me let Hermes die. You know I stood there and listened to you scream. That-- that's sick. It's absolutely sick. What kind of person listens as his brother gets tortured? And knowing that I was listening and not doing anything, how could you not think I was planning on leaving you there?"

"You wouldn't do that," Ron repeated. Then, after a short, strained silence, he spoke again. "I didn't mean to yell. I tried not to. But I know you came as soon as you could. You couldn't walk in there with all the real Death Eaters around. You must have thought about all that. Knowing you, you probably even mentally outlined your options, with numbers and subheadings and everything."

Percy ignored the both amusing and disturbing revelation that Ron was right about his thought processes and pressed on. "You've always said that I don't care about you and Ginny when you're in the way of my plans."

"You're harping on that? Even Scabbers knows I don't mean it when I say things like that." Percy felt almost weak-kneed with relief, but his stance remained unchanged. "You got me out of there alive. That's above and beyond what you had to do."

"It was the most important thing I had to do."

"You could have let me take care of myself. You don't need to baby-sit me. I'm the same age you were when I came to Hogwarts."

"Watching out for you is still in the_Older Brother's Handbook_."

"Bill and Charlie mentioned that. When I wrote to them about you. I can't wait until Bill finds out he was right."

"About what?"

"When I asked if he thought you were acting weird, he said he thought you'd taken a position in a top-secret crime fighting agency. I think he thinks he was kidding."

Percy began to roll his eyes, but suddenly froze, horrified. "They'll have to find out."

"Bill and Charlie?"

Percy shook his head.

"Oh." Ron cottoned on, feeling a little slow. "Mum and Dad."

Percy nodded.

"They'll be proud of you, once they get over being glad you're all right."

"I have a Dark Mark on my arm and I almost got you killed. I don't think they'll exactly be proud of that."

"You didn't almost get me killed. I almost got me killed. I do that a lot. They're practically used to it."

"It's different for me. You say I don't know about being the youngest brother? Well, you don't know about being an older brother. You and Ginny are practically the same age. I can tell you off, and you can hate me for it, but if you ignore me when I tell you something, it's still my fault. Remember when Sirius Black broke into your dormitory?"

"Yes," said Ron cautiously.

"What did Professor McGonagall say when everyone got up?"

"At first she said it was ridiculous, Sirius couldn't have gotten through the portrait, and then she started interrogating Sir Cadogan and telling off Neville for writing down the passwords."

"That _is_ how you'd remember it. Know what _I_ remember?"

"What?"

"Her saying 'Percy, I expected better of you!' It was automatically my fault because I was Head Boy and the brother of the person who was yelling the loudest."

Ron had never exactly thought about things that way, so he said defensively "I had a good excuse for yelling."

"I know you did. My point is, the automatic conclusion is the oldest one is at fault. The oldest one should know better. And since there's seven whole years between Charlie and me, but only five between Ginny and me with you and the twins in between, I've almost always been the oldest. And if our parents are going to disown one of us, it's going to be me."

Ron bit back a peel of laughter. "They aren't going to disown anyone. If Fred and George haven't gotten themselves kicked out of the family yet, it must be impossible."

"I guess I'm exaggerating, but . . . ." Percy trailed off tiredly.

"I understand." Percy doubted it. "Can I ask you something?"

"Sure."

"Do you know why there are seven years between Charlie and you, and then five in six years?"

That had not been the question Percy had been expecting. He had expected more of an argument to his It's Tough To Be In Charge complaint. "You-Know-Who was rising to power steadily then. Mother decided that she didn't want to bring any more children into that kind of world. The sons and daughters of Ministry workers were always getting killed. It was kind of a game for Death Eaters."

Ron felt his mouth drop open. That had never occurred to him.

"But after a while," Percy continued, "she decided that she was letting them win by not going on with her life and she and Father started making up for lost time. Five in six years."

"How do you know that?"

"I asked."

"Perce?" Ron's voice suddenly went from inquisitive to awkward, and slightly slurred.

"Yes?"

"When are the Death Eaters coming?"

"Twenty minutes unless they changed their plans."

"I'm tired."

"Go to sleep. They can't hurt you here."

"Can't hurt me at all. Got five big brothers." His voice was fading out.

"Do you want your sleeping potion?" Percy asked, outwardly ignoring the show of faith but storing it in his memory for later retrieval.

"Don't need it. Know what I remember about going to school with you?"

"What?"

"Not McGonagall yelling. My first year, the last feast, when they changed the colors from Slytherin to Gryffindor."

"That was nice."

"That wasn't what I liked best. The colors. I liked it when I got my points and I heard you shouting at all the other prefects that I was your brother. 'My youngest brother! Got past the giant chess set!' Like I was worth bragging about."

"You've always been worth bragging about."

"So've you. Still are. Did good tonight. Love you. Good night." Ron was perhaps nine-tenths asleep at this point, eyes closed, and surely would not remember his words in the morning. But Percy would.

"Love you, too," Percy whispered. Moving for almost the first time since awakening Ron, he leaned down and kissed his brother's forehead. It was something he had not done since roughly the age of seven, but Ron was asleep and there was no one else around to tell. He backed away from the bed, unsure what to do next.

Upon walking into the main room of the hospital wing, though, Percy spotted an unmistakable flash of red. "Ginny?" he asked, hoping to be stern but not finding the energy. "Shouldn't you be in the Great Hall?"

She smiled a patented I've-out-witted-my-brothers smile. "I know the prefects. They said I could stay here until after whatever happens, happens."

"That doesn't sound like Hermione."

"No, but Harry argued her into it. Said he'd give me his invisibility cloak, so Hermione finally said I could go if I was careful and Nearly Headless Nick and the Fat Friar took me and went right back to her to say I got here all right. I wouldn't have left in the first place, but Fred and George needed me to get something from the Great Hall and I got stuck there until Harry and Hermione covered for me."

"How long have you been here?"

"A few minutes. I started to go into Ron's room but I heard you two talking and decided to leave you alone."

"Did you hear anything?"

"From the_ Older Brother's Handbook _ on."

"Hmm. Will you--"

"I won't repeat any of it. I've already forgotten all of it."

"Good." Ginny nodded, and pulled out her wand, eyeing Percy speculatively. "Gin?"

"Can I restore the color of your hair?"

"I changed it for a reason."

"And I want to change it back for a reason. It's not a bad color, but it's not yours. Besides, it'll look ridiculous when it starts to grow out. I've known the spell since first year. It's very simple. I've used it on my roommates before."

Percy was about to argue further, but decided against it. "Sure. Change it back." Ginny's grin widened, and she cast the spell quickly.

"I have one more suggestion."

"What?"

"Lose the Death Eater look."

Percy glanced down at his robes. "I'd forgotten I was wearing these."

"Obviously."

"Is this why Hermione was staring at me?"

"Probably." Percy removed the hood and mask from his robes and placed them on the nearest bed, and then transfigured the insignia on his robes from "Death Eater" to "Ministry." Ministry robes and Death Eaters robes were very similar in appearance, and not by coincidence. When he glanced up, Ginny was carefully folding the hood and mask into a small package. "Want me to put these away for you?" she asked.

"Where?"

"In my trunk, I guess. Until you tell me to get rid of them or you want to do something else with them." Percy did not bother to wonder how Ginny knew that he did not want to dispose of them right then. Ginny had been able to perceive things like that for years, no matter how immature she may have been with respect to other aspects of her life. "You can't put them away yourself," Ginny added unnecessarily. "You can't go anywhere the Death Eaters could find you, can you?"

"No," Percy sighed.

"Do you have to go into hiding?" Her voice had grown more child-like.

"I expect so. Listen, Ginny, there's nothing you have to worry about or know about. All right?"

"All right," she agreed, cheery again.

"I didn't think you'd agree with me."

"Oh, I don't, but I have more important things to argue with you about right now."

"I've done enough arguing for the night. Sorry."

"Good. That will make my job easier." Some of the manic quality left her smile. "You remember Ron's first year. Do you remember mine?"

"I was here for it."

"Remember how you decided I was over-excited and sick and needed Pepper-Up Potion? And everyone said that with my hair it looked like my head was on fire?"

"Gin--"

"Payback time. When was the last time you slept?" Her smile grew even less playful, and more sympathetic. Percy fought the urge to squirm beneath her gaze. "Well? When _was_ the last time you slept?"

"Er . . . a few nights ago," he answered honestly.

"Sit down."

"I'd rather not."

She took his hand in hers and held it against her cheek in an intimate but sisterly gesture. "Just sit down. You aren't going anywhere."

_Why do they have to keep reminding me that I'm not going anywhere?_ Percy wondered as Ginny took her own advice and crawled onto the bed, sitting cross-legged without letting go of his hand. Resignedly, he sank down beside her and realized for the first time that he was truly exhausted, more exhausted than he had ever been in his life.

"When Madam Pomfrey comes back, you have to let her make sure you're all right, too."

"Gin--"

"Sorry. It's in the _Younger Sister's Handbook_.that I have to make you do this."

"Wait-- when she comes back? Where is she?"

"In the Great Hall. With the Gryffindors."

Percy nodded, and they sat in silence until the ground beneath them shuddered suddenly. The shudder was followed by a loud crack, and a louder explosion. Finally, the walls shook as if they were about to collapse. Ginny screamed.

"It's all right," he told her instinctively. "Dumbledore said that they couldn't get in."

"I know," she answered, sounding as if she knew no such thing. "Could you take out your wand just in case?" Her own wand was already in her hand, and Percy obliged her by drawing his wand. However, the next person to enter the room was none other than Madam Pomfrey.

"No need to have your wands out in my hospital wing," were her first words. "Percy, Dumbledore said that if you were here, you were to be checked over."

Ginny smirked, and jumped off the bed, saying something about waiting in Ron's room. Percy submitted to the examination, which ended with the conclusion that he was in perfect health except for bruised knuckles and a quickly mended cracked rib.

"It's not surprising that you couldn't feel it, considering how well you've managed to drain your magic," Madam Pomfrey commented as she worked. "Honestly, the things that otherwise intelligent young wizards do to their bodies . . . ." Percy found that he was too tired to listen and began to tune her voice out. "Percy? Did you hear me?"

"What? No, I'm sorry."

She smiled kindly. "You're to stay here for the rest of the night. You may take a dose of the dreamless potion that's on your brother's bedside table if you'd like."

"I'm not tired," he lied badly.

"Dumbledore said you were not to be pushed," she said with some disapproval. "Now, if this were truly_my_ hospital wing-- Well, goodnight, Percy." She retreated to her private office, and Percy began to stand up but found the action to be too much effort. He was dimly aware of Ginny's return.

The next thing of which Percy was aware was the toilet seat. He groaned as he saw it. "Fred? George?"

"Yes?" answered two barely distinguishable voices from somewhere within Percy's immediate vicinity. He sat up, realizing that he was lying on the bed in the hospital wing. His shoes and glasses had been removed (but he spotted them before he was able to accuse Fred and George), and a light blanket had been placed over his body.

"Why is there a toilet seat sitting there?"

Fred looked taken aback. "Did you hear that, George?"

"I did, Fred," said George solemnly.

"Percy, our brother--"

"our own flesh and blood--"

"sees a toilet seat sitting on the counter in the hospital wing--"

"and immediately blames _us!"_

"Quite clever when you think about it."

"But they didn't make him the Bigheaded Boy for nothing."

_It's too early for this,_ Percy thought. _Or is it?_ "What time is it?"

Fred and George made a great show of looking around for a clock. "Almost noon," George at last descended to answer.

"Yes," said Fred. "You and Ronniekins stayed asleep all morning, so we didn't really have to go to the trouble of getting those last night. We could have done it before Transfiguration."

"You 'got' _two_ of them?"

"Of course," said George. "We had to get one for Ron--"

"but actually, Ginny suggested it so it's partly her fault--"

"and we didn't want to leave you out--"

"in case this is one of those times when you're only pretending--"

"that you don't think we're funny."

Percy let the matter of the toilet seats themselves slide for the moment. "So last night, when the castle was under attack and you were supposed to be in the Great Hall, you were really stealing toilet seats."

"Yes."

"And don't think we aren't sorry--"

"because it's no fun unfastening a toilet seat--"

"when the whole building suddenly shakes."

Percy bit back a smile. "It serves you right."

"We thought you'd feel that way," said Fred cheerfully.

"That's why we told you," added George.

"Do you have anything else to tell me?" asked Percy as he finally put on his shoes and glasses, thinking that he should have listened to Ginny and gone to bed willingly instead of waiting until he actually passed out.

Fred and George looked at one another, as if using telepathy to decide on an answer, and Percy looked at both of them. He hadn't particularly expected a serious response; he never expected a serious response from the twins.

"We were worried," said Fred.

"We're glad you're all right," said George.

Percy _definitely_ hadn't expected that. "Thank you. Is everyone else all right? Did anyone get into the castle?"

"No," they answered in unison, shaking their heads emphatically.

"Something happened with the fifth year Gryffindor girls' dormitory, but we don't know exactly what," George elaborated.

"The school is going on like usual today," Fred completed.

Then, two things happened at once. Ron stirred, and Ginny bounded through the doorway, calling Professor Snape a very un-innocent name under her breath. Ginny, Fred, George, and Percy all trooped into Ron's small room, where Ron was laughing loudly and thanking the twins for his get well present.

"Shouldn't the three of you be in class?" Percy asked when Ron had settled down.

"We have the day off because of you two," Ginny explained. "But we went to morning class anyway. I shouldn't have. Professor Snape was miserable."

"He's always miserable," returned the twins in unison.

"More miserable than usual. And he was miserable to me especially," said Ginny, as Percy and Ron exchanged a knowing look.

The conversation turned to gratuitous Snape-bashing, and the twins drew the conclusion that his real reason for hating Gryffindors was his own personal lack of Quidditch talent. Ron suddenly looked straight at Percy, who had been mostly silent, but enjoying the sight of his younger siblings, happy and alive. "Perce?"

"What?"

"When did you stop playing Quidditch with us?"

The twins looked slightly guilty. "I don't know. When I got to be busy with other things. There's more to life than Quidditch," Percy answered. Fred, George, Ron, and Ginny exchanged comical expressions of puzzlement and confusion. Percy rolled his eyes. "I'm sorry. There is nothing in the world more important than catching the Snitch and throwing the Quaffle through the hoop. Or keeping the Quaffle from going through one of your hoops. Or knocking Bludgers into the other team's heads."

"That makes much more sense," agreed George, who still looked slightly guilty.

"I promise that if we all live through this war, I'll start playing with you again," said Percy, partly because he had to say something, and partly because the career for which he had sacrificed his earlier playtime was in all probability destroyed. He tried not to contemplate the fact that his promise might be an empty one, and that the chances of a large family surviving on the front lines of a war were slim to none.

Ron, however, looked mischievously at Fred and George. "You might have to let him play Beater, though. He beat the hell out of a Death Eater with his bare hands last night!" Fred and George began to laugh hysterically.

"Really?" inquired Fred.

"I got carried away," admitted Percy, now feeling guilty himself.

"If you're going to get carried away, it's good to do it on a Death Eater," said George, looking delighted to what Percy considered the point of bad taste.

The mood lightened even more with the arrival of food, and remained bright until a messenger arrived in the form of Harry Potter. Harry smiled at the assembled group; he had always seemed to be amused and intrigued by the interactions of the Weasley siblings. "Percy, Professor Dumbledore wants to see you in his office. He says you can come back here soon. No one's getting in or out of the castle for a few days, anyway."

"Thanks, Harry." Percy followed the young prefect from the room, knowing full well that Dumbledore wanted to tell him a very simple thing: go into hiding. The prospect was unattractive. The realization that he was glad to be free from his important work as a spy was unattractive. The memories of his time with the Death Eaters were the most unattractive of all.

So instead, he took a page from his younger brothers' book and thought about Quidditch as he walked the long walk back to Dumbledore's office.

The End

* * *

**Notice of Revision, November 2007**: This story was originally written in summer 2001, when canon consisted of four books. The story has a prequel, _Innocence Lost and Found_; a sequel, _Raised to the Third Power_; and a mini side-story, _Parvati Among the Slytherins_. The little Parvati ficlet is the only pat of the series I can stand six years after the writing. 

My "revision" was done mostly to update formatting and catch a few typos. Obviously, the story has not been brought into compliance with the second half of canon.

Thank you for the reviews over the years. All were read and appreciated.


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